The Angel and the Cross
Page 11
“Except for Amram and Barabbas, the two best-known Zealots in the land. Amram was old. He willingly accepted a jail term to let the other leaders live and to advance the cause in peace. Barabbas? He was a hothead, looking for war. Eli and Amram decided to use the Romans to silence him.”
Decoys! Marcus had believed that all the Zealot leaders had been captured, but instead they were deeper in hiding. Quentin marveled at the neatness of their plan. “You say the Zealot movement is stronger now?”
“Yes. It will erupt in violence within the next few years unless you take measures. Now that Barabbas is free again, Shelomith is learning to be a leader under her father’s guidance. She, however, is wise enough to know that peace must be made. If the two of you work together - as two leaders seeking compromise wherever possible - you will maintain peace for the next thirty-five years.”
I grinned with delight at the next thing I could tell him about his future. “You and Shelomith will also have many children and grandchildren.”
Quentin grinned back at the thought. Suddenly, his brow darkened. “You said Barabbas is free? Impossible! He was imprisoned for life!”
“Not so, my friend. He has been released today.”
“How can that be?”
“It is now Passover for the Jews. They have a custom that one prisoner should be released. The crowds will choose Barabbas over an innocent man.”
“An innocent man? How can God allow this?”
“That, my friend, is my other message to you this day. It is to be revealed what you accomplished with your step of faith in that cave two years ago.”
Quentin shook his head in wonderment. “My task was to prevent the bloodshed of thousands.”
I smiled with a mixture of extreme sorrow and extreme joy. “Not just that, my friend. But much, much more.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The road to Jerusalem was hot, dusty, and empty of travelers. Most of them were already in the capital to celebrate the Jewish tradition of the Passover.
Quentin and I both rode horses. The dust discouraged conversation, for which I was thankful. There was much I wanted to say, but could not. Quentin had his future to contemplate. Me, a task of joy and sorrow.
Jerusalem seemed crowded to bursting. We left our horses at a stable near the city gates. Loud and aggressive men and women pushed for position along the streets.
“Follow me,” I said quietly. We walked along a narrow road that wound upward as it neared the outskirts of the city.
Turning a corner in the road, we were greeted by the sight of a noisy crowd. They were gathered at our destination, a place known to the Jews as Golgotha - the hill of the skull.
“They know not what they witness,” I said, referring to the mass of screaming and jeering people.
Quentin nodded. Growing anticipation filled him, yet he too felt a sorrow he could not define.
What had his task been, if not for the deliverance of a people from bloodshed?
Finally, his question could now be answered.
“Do you recall that the Jews release a prisoner every year at this time?” I asked, barely able to keep my voice from trembling. This near our destination, a pain I could not help but share shrieked inside of me.
Quentin nodded.
“The man you will see,” I continued as we reached the edge of the crowd, “is the innocent man held while Barabbas was set free this morning.”
Quentin had no time to contemplate this news. The crowd parted before us, making a path to the top of the hill.
Although the punishment was common, Quentin could hardly bear to watch the suffering before him.
Three men were each nailed to his own cross.
Quentin followed me until we were at the foot of the center cross. The man above us was barely conscious, his feet and hands nailed to the wood of the cross. His head was slumped hard against his chest and his eyes were closed, which is what happens when a man is almost beyond pain.
I fought to keep my voice coherent. “Quentin, my friend, this was the reason you needed to take that step of faith. The Evil One wanted to stir a bloody revolution which would rouse this land to such turmoil that all government would disappear. Without government, Pontius Pilot would not have been able to condemn this innocent man today.”
“I…I do not understand.” Quentin stared at the cross and the man in agony upon it. “You wanted this man crucified?”
“Yes. It is the most important moment in the history of your race.”
Quentin gasped at the cruelty he witnessed in front of him. Never had he seen a crucifixion at such closeness. “Yet this man the crowd jeers is innocent! I know that deep within me.”
“This death you witness,” I said as I struggled for control of my emotions, “is a triumph over the Evil One.”
“Triumph? Impossible!”
At that moment, the man on the cross opened his eyes.
“Quentin, behold,” I whispered joyfully, although the horror of his suffering and isolation tore at my soul. “The man you see is The Son of God. His sacrifice for you and all others who place faith in him ensures you may reach Our Father. Death for all of you has lost its sting. The great victory is won.”
The noise of the crowd dropped away from Quentin. It seemed as if he were alone on the hill with the man on the cross.
The face looking down upon him was etched hollow with agony, yet the man’s eyes compelled Quentin with a compassion and a peace that made him feel as if the entire earth trembled. For a moment they looked at each other.
Despite his pain, the man on the cross found strength to smile at Quentin when their eyes met.
“Friend, I must go now,” I said gently to Quentin. I could barely endure the agony placed on the innocent man on the cross.
Quentin, I’m sure, hardly heard me. He stood transfixed by the compassion of the man on the cross. A rebel of love.
How long that moment lasted, Quentin never knew.
Then the man on the cross bowed his head again. The crowd closed in on Quentin, and the loud jeering finally reached his ears.
A wrinkled and tiny woman tugged on his tunic. “Boy,” she cackled as he stumbled back down the hill, “you’re crying.”
“Yes. I am,” Quentin said simply.
Quentin did not wipe his tears as he walked away from her.
Invisible and unheard above them was the singing of angels as the life began to ebb from man on the cross. My task with Quentin finally completed, I too, had become part of that chorus.
Historical Note
Nearly forty years later, the Jews finally did rebel against Roman occupation. It resulted in a four-year war, which took the lives of hundreds of thousands of Jews. With Roman victory, the city of Jerusalem and the Temple itself were destroyed in A.D. 70.