The craftsman

The night dark, the forest thick, the cool air intimidating for most people but not one man. Guided by the light of the moon, the man approaches the edge of the forest with vigor and determination.  By the time he reaches his destination he is covered in sweat.  The trail long through the dense forest but the man has been here before and concerned not with the challenges of the forest.  Though lead by moon light, the sunlight now gaping through the trees.  The man finally stops, he picks up his axe and swings...he swings again and again.  Crackles are heard and the man knows his mission almost complete; he's wings faster until the tree timbers to the ground.  Each crack, each snap echoes in the vacant forest.  The trek back more arduous than the trek in for the weight of this tree almost unbearable yet he manages with several breaks.  Once back at his workshop, the man takes a break but only for a moment for he has been commissioned, this job his biggest account, this job could take his career to the next level, he could be known; even infamous!  So he works, diligently through the day into the night.  This tree, the largest of its kind though its massive size no match for his carpentry skills.  Alas, the task complete, the client will receive it in the morning.  Stirring with excitement, the man finds slumber difficult for he tosses with anticipation, with the hope that his client will admire his work; after all he was commissioned for something huge, something which would require only his expertise, his trained eye, his precision, his master craftsmanship.  

The night still dark and the man places his finely crafted piece into the wagon and begins his trek into town.  Guided by the moon, the man day dreams, he wonders why he was chosen for such a task;  how his work will be received, not only by his client but by others.  After all, this job was promised to get looks by thousands of people, people from distant lands, people for centuries...he was going to be famous!  With his heart pumping, each step more swift than the first.  Finally, he reaches his destination, the center of town.  He cannot help but feel the hostility, an aura of hatred looms over the town.  He is met by his client who beckons two men to handle the work of the craftsman.  The man is paid for his work and told to stay for the day's activities, for surely the day would not go as planned without his contribution.  With that invitation, a bell tolls.  The sky breaking through the clouds, showing its sorrow with a red sky.  The eerie surroundings frighten the craftsman not an he accepts the invitation.  

People begin to gather in the square.  Shouts startle the man and he soon finds himself among a swarm of angry people.  Unaware of what the events of the day were to hold, the man stands his ground, after all, today the day he were to become famous!  More people gather in the square, more people begin to shout, they call for a prisoner.  Guards come to the courtyard and assure the people he will soon be lead outside.  Within moments a man is let to the courtyard, shouts echo, the excitement of the day has begun.  The shouts quickly turn to, "Crucify him, crucify him!"  The craftsman taken aback, "This surely could not be my commission?  No, no, this is something different.  I was commissioned for something great!  I was commissioned for something everyone would want to see!  Something no one would be able to remove from their line of vision, something they could not take their eyes off of for my creation, my craftsmanship a work of beauty.  No, this crowd, so filled with hatred, so blinded by rage would not see the value of my work.  I was promised fame.  This must be something different."  With his last thought, the man was tied to a pole and flogged with whips, which when snapped upon his back, echoed a piercing sound.  It was all the man could do not to get sick for with each swing of the whip, blood splattered over the crowd, the tiny metal caps on each whip cut the man like a knife; yet through the beating no sound did he utter.  The cheers of the crowd now concerning to the craftsman who looks around, distressed, even frightened by these events.  The beating continues was they place a crown of thorns upon his head as one guard mocks him by saying, "All hail king of the Jews".  With that the crowd goes wild, the cheers penetrate the soul of the craftsman who no longer eagerly awaits the unveiling of his work; rather he fears it.  Soon enough, his work is presented in its majesty...a cross, a huge wooden cross, the likes of which have never been seen, presented to the crowd and with his name inscribed upon it.  "No, no this man could not possibly carry this cross, no!  It is much too heavy for one man to bear.  I was promised my work to be a symbol for all to recognize, for all to gaze upon and identify.  Not this, please not this."  Two soldiers hand the man the cross, again the crowd chants, "Crucify him, crucify him" and with that the procession begins.  The man carries his cross through the streets, leaving an impression of its weight along the ground for even the dirt understands its weight as it packs down with each step.  The craftsman watches as the man carries the cross through town and there, on the back, his name engraved in the wood.  What this man endured, no man should even witness let alone experience and yet here he was witnessing a horrific scene, a scene made possible because of his craftsmanship.  

He could not help but follow, but watch as the man carrying his workmanship was tortured.  The blood scattered along the street and even into the crowd.  It seems the more pain the man felt, the louder the shouts from the crowd and the guards playing right into their excitement.  The day hot, the sun cooking the onlookers and the craftsman stops for a drink.  He is recognized, "Hey, I know you, you are the craftsman who lives up over the hill, near the forest.  Wait, yes, it is you. I thought I recognized you in the crowd, what are you doing here?  You usually only come down this way with deliveries.  Wait...yes, I know...you, you are the one who made the huge cross the man now carries.  Hey, everyone, we have a true hero in our midst...  Everyone look here, this is the man who crafted the cross the prisoner  now carries...come he will give you his autograph!!"  With that a swarm of people surround the man as if he were a famous celebrity, everyone wants to speak with him, to shake his hand, to be in his presence.  Quickly the craftsman slips into the crowd, he wants nothing to do with this execution.  "This is no way to gain fame, I do not want blood on my hand!  Why, why did I make such a monstrosity?  Why did I not question its purpose?  Blinded by the idea of fame, the idea of fortune, my life forever changed.  This man's life forever changed.  Oh, I am sorry for every making this piece."  As tears stream down his face, the man hears a haunting echo.  He looks and finds that he has followed the crowd to Golgotha, and the prisoner is not being tied to the cross as was the norm; rather he was being nailed to it.  This the haunting echo, the sound of metal on metal breaking though the human body.  It is finished, the prisoner raised up on the cross, the cross standing tall for all to see in the distance.  Blood stained the wood of the cross.  The crowd dispersed, only a handful of people remain though they sit wailing and reverent.  The craftsman falls to this knees and in tears he eyes he begs for forgiveness for he was blinded by his ego, blinded by vainglory.  Before he stands, he picks up something from the ground and puts it into his pocket, he then returns to his feet and begins his journey home.

Once there, he packed his things and made his way to Jericho hoping to set up shop and not be recognized.  The events of the day weighed upon this lowly craftsman.  Though he never once struck the prisoner, he felt as if he were the only cause of the man's painful demise.  After some time, he once again, took pride in his work, he was proud to use his gifts and talents, though he never let his ego stand in his way again.  The craftsman learned a valuable lesson that day, one of humility for his commission was promised thousands to see, and millions to recognize.  Recognize they did and recognize they do.  On bended knee, each morning, the craftsman looks to a tiny symbol there in the corner of his workshop.  A piece of wood splintered from his "masterpiece" of a day so long ago, the piece of wood he placed into his pocket, gear streaming down his face that day in Golgotha.  His work holds the most treasured masterpiece of all Jesus Christ.  It is a masterpiece a masterpiece of love.