I tried to keep track of his mighty works but lost count because the miracles he performed were so many. I had always wanted to meet him and see for myself what this man was about but life always seemed to get in the way. Now I would finally get the chance to see him. I watched from a narrow slit on the outer wall waiting to catch a glimpse of Yeshua, as I did my mind drifted to what my mother had told me.
When I was younger, my mother often read to me the 45th Psalm, she said it spoke of the coming Messiah’s beauty. “Fairer than the sons of men” was how my mother said the sons of Ko'rah had described him. My cousin Eliyahu had seen Yeshua three years prior, and his description was fairly accurate. I remembered what he had said about him during last year’s Passover meal.
Eliyahu said when he had seen Yeshua that he was “somewhat tall in stature, with a very reverent countenance. His hair was the color of chestnut, full ripe, and plain, which flowed to his ears. In the midst of his head was a seam or partition in His hair, after the manner of the Nazarenes. His forehead was plain and very delicate looking. His face was without spot or wrinkle, beautified with a lovely red.
His beard was thick, in color like his hair, not very long, but forked. His look was innocent and mature. His eyes were grey, clear, and quick. When Yeshua spoke he was very temperate, modest, and wise. A man whose beauty surpassed the children of men.” Eliyahu also said, “I have never seen a sweeter or more serene countenance.”
I was startled from my daydream by a Roman, who was shouting at Yeshua. My heart skipped a beat when my eyes beheld the sight of him. He was truly “fairer than the sons of men.” In my mind, I wondered was this really the Messiah our nation had been waiting for? Our religious teachers had told us that the Messiah would come and free us from the oppression of Rome, but here stood this man in chains about to be scourged.
I continued watching through the narrow slit in the wall of my cell as I saw the Romans slapping and mocking him. One of them tied a rope and put it around his neck. It was pulled so tightly the Nazarene's head jerked violently forward. He fell upon his knees, gasping and choking, struggling to breathe.
The other Romans who witnessed this began laughing callously at the merciless show of brutality upon the condemned Nazarene. The Centurion ordered one of the Lictors to grab the rope, and together they dragged Yeshua around the courtyard. As they did the people watching this horrific punishment began spitting on the fallen man. It seemed to me that the Romans were being unusually brutal in their punishment of this man then any before him.
Yeshua disappeared from my view as a crowd of Roman soldiers surrounded him. I could see them mercilessly beating and kicking him. Next I heard a soldier shout, “get out of the way, get out of my way” as he handed the Lictors two hideous looking devices, which would be used on Yeshua. The men stood there with evil cruel grins on their faces as they inspected the weapons of torture that would soon be used on him.
I could not see clearly, but it looked as if one of the flagrums had a hook at the end of it. Terror filled my heart for Yeshua when I saw the "scorpion" as the Romans affectionately called the hook on the end of the flagrum. I had only heard of the massive amount of damage the scorpion incurred on someone's body, it was something terrible indeed.
When I had finally seen Yeshua again I could tell that his face was swollen and blood was pouring from a broken nose. My heart was broken for the Nazarene because of what was coming next. The Centurion ordered that Yeshua be led to the whipping post. The center of the courtyard could still be barely seen from my narrow slit in the wall.
I watched as one of the Roman Lictors chained the condemned man's hands to the metal rings that hung from the top of the post. The Centurion then walked over to where the Nazarene was chained and ripped the clothes from off his back. His olive colored skin was exposed to the blistering heat of the sun. The Nazarene was now naked for all to see his humiliation and shame.
As I closed my eyes, I could see the instruments of torture, the deadly flagrums. It was the Roman's favorite tool of brutality and death. It was a nine strap; lead tipped whip embedded with pieces of jagged sheep bone from a ram's forehead. These flagrums had killed many condemned men before they could even be crucified. I knew that the Nazarene would probably not survive the scourging that awaited him.
The Roman Lictors towered over him, and they had twisted smiles on their faces. One stood on Yeshua’s right side and another was on his left. They were positioned at just the right angles to inflict the most damage. The Centurion shouted the order and the scourging commenced. The Romans took turns inflicting their vicious and cruel punishment upon him. The cries of agony escaped Yeshua's parched lips and echoed throughout the courtyard, they were bone-chilling cries.
Each lash, of the flagrum, was designed to bite and grab the flesh ripping it open. With the first blows upon his body, deep stripe-like lacerations appeared. Blood immediately started spewing from the gaping wounds. With each devastating strike, the lashes violently ripped his flesh apart. The scorpion was taking a huge toll on him as long ribbons of bleeding flesh hung from his body, while smaller pieces fell to the ground.
The blows landed indiscriminately on his body slicing through his delicate skin. The Lictors alternated blows from his bare shoulders down his body to the soles of his feet. Soon muscle, nerves, and sinew were exposed as a result of the scourging. My mind could not fathom how this Nazarene could endure such inhumane punishment being laid upon him.
To these eyes, the Nazarene appeared near the cusp of death, yet he never begged for its release. The blood was cascading from the gruesome wounds on his body spraying all over the Lictors, they were covered in it. As the Lictor on the right turned to land another merciless strike upon Yeshua, I could see his face. He had a look of blind rage, full of hatred and cruelty. He looked like a madman, and he was covered in innocent blood from his head to his feet.
Then I saw the Nazarene look up at the Lictor. The Nazarene’s gaze could not be held by the Lictor and his eyes quickly shot towards the ground. The Lictor turned his head in shame; it seemed he finally realized the man he had been beating was indeed innocent. I thought I could faintly hear a gasp of horror escape from the Lictor when he saw the blood he was standing in. What happened next seemed a miracle as the expression on the Lictor’s face changed. It seemed to me as if his anger was being washed away by the blood he was standing in.
After the Lictors finished flogging Yeshua, I could not believe he was still alive. His body was so torn, bloodied, beaten and disfigured that he no longer looked like a man. He looked more like a beast who had just ascended from the abyss, what a terrible sight he was. Tears filled my eyes, and I began to silently weep for the Nazarene. As I stood looking in unbelief, a Roman soldier thrust a crown of thorns upon Yeshua’s head. The punishment of the Nazarene was barbaric and inhumane. My eyes had never witnessed someone being so cruel to another person in this manner before.
The thorns pierced his forehead grabbing the flesh and tearing it open. The Roman, who put the crown upon Yeshua's head, then took a stick and pushed the thorns into his scalp. Blood gushed from these wounds down his face and cheeks eventually falling to the ground. The Romans started beating and kicking him again. They also started yanking the beard in tufts from his face.
I felt the earth start quaking as if in revulsion to the taste of his blood. One of Romans kicked the Nazarene in the face and then commanded him to get up, but he could not summon the strength to do so. A Roman standing nearby rushed over to him and grabbed his hair pulling him to his feet.
Next one of the Romans put a purple robe on his shoulders and placed a reed in his hand saying, "a king of such royalty deserves a robe." They began to mock him, bowing at his feet in feigned obeisance they said, "hail King of the Jews." Then they began spitting on him and violently punching him in the face.
One soldier blindfolded the Nazarene then the other Roman soldiers struck him with their fists while saying, "tell us who just hit you." One soldier struck him so hard his head recoiled with great intensity. The Nazarene's head hung down as though this blow had finished his torture. Two of the Romans grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet. However, he could not stand and immediately fell to his knees. The soldiers yelled and cursed at him. One of the Lictors grabbed a flagrum and started beating him again.
I could feel anger welling up inside of me. My heart was moved with compassion for Yeshua. The next sound I heard was the creaking of my cell door. I was startled for a second as the jailer said, "it's time." As I turned and started out of my dank cell, the fear of death flooded over me. I could hear the frenzied mob screaming as the jailer led me toward the courtyard. I could hear them yelling, "crucify him."
My eyes could now clearly see the Nazarene as the heavy gate swung open. His face and body were so marred with gaping wounds; the skin was hanging from his body. You could see pieces of muscle and intestines protruding from the massive wounds.
The Romans laid the roughly hewn cross beam upon his raw shoulders, and I could see the wood splinter into his already ragged flesh. The Centurion barked out commands as the march to Golgotha commenced, which was to be the place of our execution. As we started our slow march toward death, the Nazarene fell down numerous times.
Each time he summoned the strength to carry on, though I could not fathom how. He seemed determined to reach the hill to die, my mind still could not comprehend how he was enduring this punishment. If he died from the terrible wounds inflicted upon him it would have been more merciful, then what waited at the place of execution.
As we got closer to the hill, that was nicknamed "The Skull," he fell for what appeared to be the last time. The Romans knowing he could no longer carry his cross went into the crowd and forcefully compelled a young man to carry the Nazarene's cross.
The young man put the beam upon his shoulders, and I saw the stranger who wore the thorns look at him with gratitude. I wondered how this Nazarene could possibly show love after what he had been through. As the young man put the cross on his shoulders, the blood of the Nazarene ran down the man’s back. As we continued our march towards Golgotha, the crowd started spitting on us again. They mocked us, some laughed and said, “he saved others now let him save himself.”
The hill was still quite some distance away, and my cross grew heavier with each step. It seemed like an eternity before we reached the place death awaited us. My knees grew weak at the heaviness of the cross beam I was carrying. I was so tired and exhausted. At that moment I saw the Nazarene, in front of me summoning the strength to go on. It was in this moment I determined to press on and face death as fearlessly as Yeshua was.
Finally, we reached the hill, and I knew this was the point of no return. I looked at the beaten and bloodied stranger again wondering why the people who sought his death were filled with such hatred for him. What had he done to deserve the death of a thief such as myself? Then a revelation flooded my mind, and I recognized him to be the king and messiah our people had been waiting for.
I knew in my heart the Nazarene did not deserve this kind of death. I surely deserved my death, but he did not. My mind was firmly made up that this man was innocent and undeserving of a common thief’s death.
When we got to the top of the hill, they laid the cross beams on the ground, and they shoved us onto them.
The Roman Centurion commanded the hammer and nails be brought to him. I had to close my eyes when I saw the five inch nail being pressed against Yeshua's hand. The ting of the hammer striking the nails brought more tears to my eyes. The sound that escaped his lips, from the excruciating pain, replaced the sound of the hammer striking the nails.
The Romans raised our crosses up to the sky as the mob started screaming at the Nazarene, who wore the thorns, "you claim to be the son of God come down off that cross." Then the man on the right side, who was crucified with us, began cursing and reviling the Nazarene, but I spoke in his defense. Then I turned to the Nazarene and said, "remember me." He looked at me with love in his eyes and said, "today surely you will be with me in paradise."
Then I hung my head down and died. When I opened my eyes the Nazarene was by my side. He took my hand and said, "I’ve got someone I would like you to meet." He took me to his father, and I fell down at his feet in worship. Yeshua knelt down beside me. He took me in his arms, he told me he loved me, and that he had endured the shame of the cross for me. Then I recalled the words; I had spoken to him just before I died, "remember me Yeshua, remember me."
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