Travelers find the road impassible for too many people crowd the road. The cheers, they yell and the travelers are intrigued so they stop and join the crowd. At first they see nothing yet they join in with the cheers, "Hooray, yeah!", they yell and the crowd gathered readily accepts the travelers into their group. Time passes and the cheering only gets louder yet the travelers still have no idea the reason for their cheers. Finally, commotion along the street, "Maybe this the reason for our misdirection, maybe this the reason for our shouts and screams. Is it a parade?" First to be seen are the Roman guards, they are hot, sweat pours from their helmets, they labor to walk, and their face registers pain with each step.
"Who are they leading?", the one traveler asks the other.
"I don't know but it looks as if their armor is splattered with blood."
Both travelers taking in the situation but, once again, quickly find themselves wrapped up in the cheering. From a distance the travelers see a huge cloud of dust appears as if something is being drug along the road. The guards take out their whips and hit something on the ground. This cloud of dust prevents their view. They see several people enter the street where the cloud of dust remains; most spit upon the cloud but one, one person reaches into the the cloud of dust. Immediately, a cross appears through the dust and the guards begin their march. The cross follows and the cheers gain intensity. Guards pass the travelers and then a man with the cross. His face covered in blood, His body even more saturated than His face. Bloody gashes cover his back, His tunic stuck to His body, the blood acting as the glue. A layer of dust also covers Him, especially his hands. The man, though looking exhausted does not look as weary as the Roman guards walking with Him. This man seems to be walking with purpose, walking with promise. The man stops directly in front of the travelers. Exhausted and just wanting this procession, this crucifixion to end, one guard raises his whip, ready to strike the man but another guard stops him and allows a couple of woman to visit the man. The cross is taken from the man and that is when the travelers see His hands, bloodied callouses ripped open, raw. The woman show nothing but love and kindness toward this obviously hated man. They wipe his face and hands and they do so with dignity and compassion. As quickly as they were permitted out into the street, they are just as quickly pushed into the crowd. Tears stream down the faces of the woman as they return to the crowd. It was if, for a moment, the road fell silent as everyone watched the interaction of this man with the woman; but this was not the case, the traveler found himself just enthralled with the situation for his ears quickly returned to the shouts, the mocking, the derogatory comments, to the hatred. He turns to see the loudest person, his traveling friend. The cross is given back to the man, the sheer weight of it required two soldiers to hand it to him, yet only one man carries it through the streets. As the man walks away, the traveler notices that His feet, too, covered in blood for the road rocky and no shoes adorn His feet. The guards behind him yell, they tell him to keep moving, stop slowing down; and the procession continues. People jeer, they cheer as if a parade float with people throwing candy just passed. No candy was thrown but the streets are left with remnants of the day's events for a trail of blood left behind from the man carrying the cross. Blood from His face, blood from His hands, blood from His body, blood from His feet...the street remembers, the street tells his story...
As the man and the guards pass, the crowds follow, all the while they mock the man, they taunt Him with hurtful words. The travelers, still curious, once again follow the crowd joining in with their antics. The march tiresome, the sun hot and the body thirsts. The travelers stop for a quick drink and then rejoin the crowd. The day ended at Golgotha where the man with the cross was nailed and displayed for all to see. The sound of the mallet hitting the spike echoed along the hill, it was the first time the crowd was quiet. Each swing of the mallet, metal on metal yet everyone present knew it was penetrating skin, breaking bones yet the man spoke not a word. Silent was the crowd as they watched each spike eventually covered in blood. When the man was securely nailed to the cross, the guards raised the cross high for all to see. At first there was still silence but then many began to cheer and the travelers, themselves, found themselves cheering. The crowds dispersed, only some people remained but those few were on bended knee and tears flooding from their faces. So the travelers departed.
They continued on their journey. They poke of the events as if the other were not present for they were both horrified and amazed as what they had just witnessed. With their return home, they told people of their experience; how they joined the crowd with cheers, the trail of blood, the echoing of the spikes yet none who heard the story seemed sad, none seemed weary for the travelers spoke with excitement, they spoke with infatuation and all present listened intensely. It was not until several years later that the travelers learned of the specifics of the events of that day. And it was not until years after that that one felt guilty for his actions, for partaking in such a horrific event.
The travelers, again ready to venture the tiresome and dangerous sands, making their way to Jerusalem. The two meet and, as they walk, they recall the events of so many years prior. One remembers with excitement, the other with sadness. The one stricken with guilt questions the other, "How do you not fret about our actions? Why do you recall the day as exciting?"
The traveler responds, "We were only doing what everyone else was doing, we didn't know any better."
"But we should have, we should have looked, we should have asked questions, we should have helped the man."
"Then it would have been us who was out there in the street or mobbed by the angry crowd."
"Still, what we witnessed..."
"Don't tell me you buy the crap they say, you believe that guy, the bloodied guy we saw in the streets, carrying the cross, being whipped by the guards, spit upon by the crowd, that man, you believe was the Messiah?! You are as crazy as the rest of them!"
With that the travelers continued on their route to Jerusalem but not another word was spoken. One traveler contemplated on the events of the day and asked for forgiveness, to rid himself of the guilt he felt for his reckless and thoughtless actions. The other man he, too, recalled the events of that day so long ago yet he remembered very differently, seeing his experience as an adrenaline rush and nothing more. When the travelers had reached their destination they parted ways never to speak again. The one traveler return to Calvary, to Golgotha and knelt in prayer, then he walked through the streets and the streets retold the story of the day Christ was crucified...
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