The sun was covered. And the light drew away like the hour after it slips beyond the horizon. I could only just see him, but I could see it coming. His head dropped lower and lower. Blood dried in streams on his arms which cracked as he tried to lift himself to take air. His eye took mine. One tear washed blood away from the mark of my hand on his cheek. I know the shake of his arms. I have seen the desperation that tries to pull the shoulders, just for a little longer, the body trying to stay alive. I had seen it many times. The head would bob, trying to pull back but drooping ever further forward, pulling on the nails in the arms until pain brought it up again. It would not be long.
His eye again caught mine. He pulled a ragged breath, and I heard him, his voice bouncing from the walls, “I let it go. This life, I return to you, Father.” And then his eyes pressed mine for the last. They seemed to reach straight into my heart. And my stomach fell. And I knew.
A Roman next to me muttered, “They have killed an innocent man.” And I knew.
And the wailing began behind me. And I knew.
I had been wrong. I had beaten and killed an innocent man.
And my mind raced. What to do.
Caiaphas would not be interested. Pilate had washed his hands. His followers had no standing.
But Joseph. Joseph would want to take him.
And I ran.
Luke 23:44-56a Morning Prayer
SpirARTuality 