The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ (43 page)

“You don’t need to carry me again—ever!” she told Jonathan happily. “I have been healed by the Messiah, the Son of God.”

Even with his tortured hump, Jonas had never experienced physical agony to compare with the mental pain that had seized him when he saw Abiathar place the chaplet of green burnet upon Jesus’ head and press the cruel thorns into His flesh. Until then he had felt only pity for the Nazarene, the same sort of pity he would have felt for any good man who was being unjustly executed. Now his own sense of guilt engulfed him, and an overpowering need to beg forgiveness filled him with in urgency he could not deny.

That Jesus would not forgive him, once he was close enough to beg it, did not once occur to Jonas. He had heard others tell of the Nazarene’s teachings and knew that the one thing in His doctrine which appealed most to those burdened by the consciousness of their own sin was the promise of forgiveness if they came to Him and asked it. Certain that his own burden would be lifted once he came near enough to the Nazarene to beg forgiveness, Jonas seized Eleazar’s lead rope more tightly and pressed on in the wake of the crowd that had poured out of the courtyard of the Antonia to follow Jesus and the Roman soldiers.

The condemned man was well ahead of Jonas by now and with the people jostling him on all sides, he could make only slow progress leading Eleazar. To Zadok’s screams and imprecations he had paid no attention; the half-man, he knew, was quite capable of caring for himself. Though he could have made more rapid progress by dropping Eleazar’s lead rope, it did not occur to Jonas to abandon the faithful mule. Eleazar was a part of him; he would as soon have cut off his own right arm as leave the animal to the mercies of the crowd.

Through the gate leading to the hill of Golgotha, the procession poured, Jonas squeezing through and protecting the mule as best he could with his body. As the crowd burst through the narrow opening, it fanned out like water pouring through a cleft in a dam. In spite of all he could do, Jonas and Eleazar were thrown against the wall. In the press, Jonas dropped the lead rope and had to push his way through to try to seize it again, losing valuable time once more. But with the people spreading out as they streamed through the gate, he was sure he could move faster and could reach the Nazarene before it was too late.

“Jonas! Jonas!” The voice was so weak that he did not recognize it at first, but the sound of his own name was enough to stop him.

“Jonas! Help!”

He placed the voice now; it came from against the wall where a man lay, his white robe already stained with a spreading blot of red where he had been wounded. In the same instant, Jonas recognized his old master, Elam.

“Help!” Elam begged weakly. “Help, or I die!”

Jonas hesitated and looked toward the crowd that was still streaming through the gate in the wake of the condemned Galilean. If he stopped now, all chance of reaching Jesus was lost. And yet the spreading stain on Elam’s white robe meant that the Pharisee must be badly wounded and would probably die unless someone came to his aid.

Among the crowd no one showed any sign of stopping, so Jonas came to kneel beside Elam. The Pharisee’s face was pale with the fear of death and loss of blood; his eyes, as he looked up at Jonas, were like those of an animal brought down in the hunt and not yet dispatched.

“A sicarius,” Elam gasped. “He stabbed me—took my purse. Tear my robe and bind my wounds. Then carry me to a physician.”

Jonas gave one last look toward Golgotha. He could see the procession beginning to climb the hill upon which stood, stark specters of death against the spring sky, the three uprights upon which three men would soon be dying. He knew he could never ask forgiveness of the Nazarene now. The burden of his guilt must rest upon his soul forever. But he could not let Elam die.

Turning, he began to rip the Pharisee’s robe to make a bandage for the two knife wounds in his side.

It was about the third hour when the procession taking Jesus to be crucified reached the hill of Golgotha. With the shadows of the uprights falling almost across them, Mary of Magdala, with Mary the mother of Jesus, and Mary the wife of Cleopas, stopped at the foot of the hill to watch while Simon the Cyrene carried the patibulum to the center upright and laid it down. Jesus, His head lifted proudly and showing of sign of fear, walked up the hill to where the soldiers waited. On either side, the thieves who were to die with Him were already being dragged to their crosses, screaming for mercy.

As a final gesture of humanity, it was customary to give a condemned man wine with myrrh to bring on insensibility, but when Pelonius offered it to Jesus, He refused with a shake of His head, choosing to bear the full pain of the death He had chosen for Himself. Nor did He struggle when they seized Him and threw Him down upon the patibulum, binding His arms to it with heavy cords. Then while one of the four soldiers in charge of the execution spread out both His hands in turn upon the wooden beam, another drove through His palms the nails that would hold Him suspended there.

A great sob broke from Mary of Nazareth when she saw the first nail driven home into Jesus’ flesh and she turned away, unable to watch any longer the agony of her son. Her own heart breaking with pity for Jesus, Mary of Magdala comforted the older woman as best she could. She had seen some of the disciples among the crowd now gathered at the foot of the hill, but did not speak for fear of identifying them to members of the Sanhedrin who had also come out with the crowd to witness the execution of the death sentence they had voted. When John appeared beside her and helped Mary of Nazareth to a rocky outcrop where she could rest, Mary Magdalene moved up the hill until she was as close to the foot of the cross as the soldiers would permit.

With Jesus’ hands securely nailed to the crossbeam, the soldiers lifted it and, carrying the timber with His body dangling from it by the nails and the cords, hoisted it into place against the center upright.

The pain must have been agonizing, but Jesus did not cry out as the patibulum was fastened into place and then, to complete the crucifixion, heavy spikes were driven into the lower portions of the upright through Jesus’ feet. Finally, across the upright beam a board was nailed upon which had been painted with brush and ink in large letters:

THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS

As Jesus hung there upon the cross, those who had sought to destroy Him shouted insults for a while. Finally, they began to drift away, leaving only the soldiers whose task it was to watch until the three condemned men were dead, the small knot of women with John and Mary of Nazareth, and a scattering of disciples and followers of Jesus who chose to maintain the deathwatch there.

At the foot of Jesus’ cross soldiers began to throw dice to see who would win the garments of the three prisoners to be sold for money to buy wine.

Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?

John 20:15

Through the early hours in the morning, Peter had remained hidden in John Mark’s home. Overcome with grief and guilt at having thrice denied the Master he loved, Peter could at first do nothing but wring his hands and moan in sorrow. Mary, Mark’s mother, had begged him to eat, for she could see that he was close to breaking from remorse and sorrow, but Peter had refused. All that morning he prayed without pause, trying to remember the things Jesus had taught him since that day so long ago when the Master had come to the shores of Galilee and said, “Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

As he prayed and recalled the times when he had sat at the feet of Jesus and listened to the great truths of the doctrine He had come to earth to preach, Peter now at last began to understand that Jesus had not come into the world to establish an earthly kingdom in Israel. And he could see that he and the other disciples had refused to listen to Jesus because of their ambition for earthly glory. The Master had opened for them—had they but been able to realize it—the gates of a vast and endless spiritual kingdom which all might enter merely by acknowledging Him and living according to the simple precepts He taught, dwelling there with Him through eternity.

About the sixth hour a strange pall of darkness fell over Jerusalem like an ominous cloud. Thunder rolled across the hills and lightning slashed the sky, sometimes appearing to seek out the pinnacle of the temple as if to destroy it.

When Mark’s mother and those around her came to Peter for reassurance in the face of this strange phenomenon which none of them could understand, he finally found the strength to put aside his own fears, as he had not been able to do the night before in the courtyard of Caiaphas. And he discovered that comforting others took away much of his own fear and uncertainty.

The darkness had been over the city for nearly two hours by the time John Mark returned from the praetorium. His first words confirmed the conclusions at which Peter had arrived during the morning, now that he was able to understand the meaning of what Jesus had been telling the disciples for the past several months.

“Jesus is crucified on Golgotha!” the youth cried. “Between two thieves!”

For a moment Peter’s heart was so filled with pain that he could not speak. “Where are the other disciples?” he asked finally.

“John took Jesus’ mother away with him,” Mark said. “Mary Magdalene and some other women are watching at the foot of the cross. The others have scattered.”

Peter said no more but began to ready his robe and sandals.

“They will recognize you if you go out now,” Mark protested. “You were the only one who tried to resist last night.”

“They must recognize me,” the big man said simply. “Because I am going to the hill and demand that I be crucified beside Jesus. With my head down, for I deserve no better.”

Mark was horrified. “You cannot help the Master now!” he protested.

“But I can help myself,” Peter said, “by atoning for my guilt in deserting Him and denying Him.”

“I will go with you,” the youth offered.

“No,” Peter told him. “This is a journey I must make alone.”

The darkness which had engulfed the city was already beginning to lighten when Peter strode through the gate leading to Golgotha, his powerful body proudly erect, his face calm with purpose.

When he approached the foot of the hill, he saw that while two dying men still hung on the outer crosses, the center one was empty. As he stood looking up at the cross in perplexity, a group of Roman soldiers passed him going down the hill, carrying the garments of the executed men over their arms.

Slowly Peter climbed the hill until he stood at the foot of the center upright, looking up at it.

“You knew Him well, didn’t you?” a voice said beside him, and Peter turned to see a Roman centurion standing by. It was Pelonius who had commanded the detail of troops charged with the execution.

“I knew Him and loved Him,” Peter said simply.

“I saw you with the Nazarene when He entered Jerusalem almost a week ago,” the Roman said. “He must have trusted you, for you walked beside Him.”

A great sob broke from Peter and he pointed to the bloodied patibulum lying upon the ground at the foot of the upright member of the cross. “Nail my arms to that,” he begged, “and let me too die here.”

The Roman shook his head. “I have crucified many men,” he said, “but none such as this one. Even on the cross He said, ‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.’ He was a righteous man. You can serve Him better by continuing to teach what He taught than by a needless sacrifice of your life.”

Peter looked again at the empty cross and once again he seemed to hear a gentle but familiar voice saying: “You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build My church. And the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

The centurion was right. To let himself be crucified now would be to deny Jesus once again by ignoring the Master’s own words about him. His task was clear. To rally those who had followed Jesus. To go back to Galilee, to Peraea, if need be, and carry on the work Jesus had begun.

“Where have they taken Him?” he asked.

“The merchant Joseph of Arimathea asked Pilate for the body,” Pelonius said. “He and the lawyer Nicodemus took it away a short while ago. I heard them say they were laying the Nazarene in Joseph’s own tomb in his garden.”

Peter knew the place, for both Joseph and Nicodemus had been followers of Jesus. It was not far away.

“I will go there,” he said. “They may need my help.”

“Be careful how you show yourself,” Pelonius warned. “The Pharisees know Jesus said He would rise again, so they asked Pilate for a guard to keep the tomb sealed.”

Peter nodded. “I will be close by.”

“The Nazarene was a righteous man,” Pelonius said.

Jesus had died around the ninth hour. Joseph and Nicodemus had come for His body as soon as they could make the necessary arrangements. They were forced to move rapidly because the Sabbath began at sunset and they wished to lay Him in the tomb before then. Toward the end, one of the Roman soldiers had thrust a spear into Jesus’ side to make sure that He was dead. Joseph and Nicodemus had time only to wrap the bruised and lacerated body in cloths soaked in myrrh to preserve it against the real preparations for burial, which could be made now only after the Sabbath, and to lay it in the empty tomb hewn from a rocky outcrop in Joseph’s garden. This done, they had helped close the door of the tomb, swinging on hinges pivoted in the stone, the guards sent by Pontius Pilate at the request of the Sanhedrin rolling a great stone against the door of the sepulcher to seal it.

Through the night and the day of the Sabbath, Mary Magdalene with two other women kept watch in the garden near the tomb. The disciples did not come nearer, for with Roman guards present, there was danger of their being recognized and arrested. Simon Peter, finding in work some surcease from his grief, was busy bringing together the rest of the disciples and planning for their departure to Galilee after the proper burial of Jesus’ body had been completed. As he worked, Simon was more and more inspired by the growing conviction, which had begun to crystallize as he stood looking up at the empty cross, that he was doing what Jesus wished him to do.

With the coming of sunset, the Sabbath was officially ended and Mary went into the city to buy the spices with which to prepare Jesus’ body for proper burial the next morning. The soldiers guarding the sepulcher had refused to let them open the tomb that night, for their orders were to keep it intact until the third day on which Jesus had said He would rise again. The women had therefore remained in the garden during the night in the shelter of the building where Peter and the others were, planning to come early to the tomb and pay their last tribute to the Master by anointing His body properly for burial and watching the door close for the last time.

John had taken Mary of Nazareth away long before death had come to Jesus on the cross. Distraught with grief, she was in a state of collapse and he had made himself her guardian while she rested and recovered from the shock of seeing her son nailed to the cross.

Mary of Magdala had been weary from the night and day of watching and the trip into Jerusalem to buy spices. She slept soundly but in the hours before dawn found herself suddenly awake. The other disciples and the women who had also remained in the shelter were still asleep, for it was not yet dawn. Without awakening Peter or any of the others, Mary arose from her pallet and left the house.

She could not have told why she took the path through the garden to where Joseph’s sepulcher had been hewn from the rock, nor did she know what she expected to find there. So it was that when she came into the clearing before the tomb and found the great stone rolled away and the door open, she could think only that the authorities must have taken Jesus’ body away for some final act of desecration.

Without going nearer, she turned and ran back to the shelter where the others were sleeping. She aroused Peter and John. “They have taken the Lord out of the sepulcher!” she told them.

With Mary of Magdala, Peter and John went at once to the sepulcher. When they saw the stone rolled away and the tomb opened, it did seem that Mary had given the explanation. For the guards, too, were gone, which almost certainly meant that they had taken the body out during the night.

John bent down and looked into the tomb but all they could see, spread out on the empty stone shelf where it had lain, was the linen cloth with which Nicodemus and Joseph had wrapped Jesus’ body. Peter came from behind John and, stooping because of his great height, went on into the tomb to see for himself that it was indeed empty. John then followed Peter’s lead, and together they examined the rock-hewn chamber carefully for some sign of what had happened. But nothing gave them a clue. Except for the linen cloths which had been soaked in the aromatic spice and wrapped about the body, nothing remained.

The two disciples were as puzzled as Mary had been when she first came into the garden. Only one explanation came to their minds at the moment; the high priest must have ordered Jesus’ body secreted somewhere lest the disciples abduct it from the tomb and claim that Jesus had indeed risen from the dead on the third day as He had predicted. Since they had no idea where the body had been taken or what had been done with it, they could do nothing but wait.

Simon and John returned to the shelter to awaken the others and tell them of this unexpected turn of events, but Mary of Magdala remained behind and, falling to the ground in front of the empty tomb, began to weep at this needless act of desecration upon the body of a man who had already died the most shameful of deaths.

Kneeling there, it suddenly seemed to Mary that the tomb was illumined for a moment and she saw two men in white sitting inside. When one of them spoke to her, saying, “Woman, why do you weep?” the vision and the voice were so real that she answered, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.”

The sound of her own voice in the silence that lay over the garden and the empty sepulcher startled her. When she felt a hand touch her shoulder, she drew back sharply.

A man stood beside her, only half visible in the dim light of early dawn. Kneeling, Mary could not see His face, but she recognized by His dress that He was not a soldier.

“Woman, why do you weep?” He asked. “Whom do you seek?”

Thinking that the man must be Joseph’s gardener or a servant, Mary spoke quickly as she got to her feet.

“If you have borne Him from here,” she said, “tell me where you have laid Him and I will take Him away.”

“Mary!” The gentle voice spoke only her name, but at last she knew who it was that stood beside her.

“Master!” Mary’s throat filled with happiness and she could say no more.

“Touch Me not,” Jesus warned her, “for I have not yet ascended to My Father. But go to My disciples and say to them, I ascend to My Father and your Father; and to My God and your God.”

Her eyes swimming now with tears of joy, Mary turned blindly toward her beloved Master but He was no longer there. The garden was empty with only the tomb and the wide-open door and the memory of His voice as He had spoken to her. Jesus had fulfilled His final prophecy. He had indeed been crucified and on the third day He had risen from the dead.

“Peter! John!” Mary cried as she ran toward the shelter where the others still were. “It has been fulfilled! Jesus has risen! Jesus has risen!”

Dawn was breaking over the hills beyond the Mount of Olives when Jonas led Eleazar out through the gate on the way to the hillside to gather thornwood. It was the morning after the Sabbath and he had gone hungry through the previous day, having spent all his money to buy grain for Eleazar after depositing Elam safely at the Pharisee’s home. Troubled by grief and shame still because of the part he had played in the execution of the Nazarene, Jonas had hardly noticed his own hunger. But as he plodded along behind the mule now, letting the patient animal pick its way up the familiar path, he found himself staggering with weakness.