They crucified Him between two common criminals. It shouldn’t have been like that. I should have been with Him. When they accused me of being one of His disciples, I should have stepped forward and said, “That’s right, I’m a follower of Jesus.” I might have ended up hanging right beside Him, but at least I wouldn’t have scorned Him and all He’d ever done for me, at least He wouldn’t have had to face that dreadful day alone.
It was dreadful. The trial was a joke and the beatings merciless. The crowd had been whipped into a frenzy, calling for His death. They welcomed Him like a king just five days ago, and yet how they called for His crucifixion. Well, they got what they wanted, because the Roman stooge, Pilate, gave it to them. He sent Jesus off to be crucified and went on about his day.
At least, if there’s a mercy in this somewhere, it might be that Jesus didn’t last that long on the cross. Only about three hours. You hear about people lingering on and on, hour after hour, in agony, but He only lasted three hours. Only. I can’t even begin to imagine what three hours up there would be like. What was strange, though, was how dark it got. I couldn’t help thinking as He was hanging there, about how He’d said, “I am the light of the world.”
Then He died. It’s all gone, I thought, Light has left the world. All is darkness now.
When they’d dragged the body away, we dragged ourselves back here. What we’re doing here, though, who knows? It’s all over. There’s no “us,” whatever “us” is, without Him. We have lost Him, and in losing Him, we have lost everything.
What is to become of us now?