When the Sun Rose

The Trial

People surround me, and I'm shoved into the lady beside me. Her eyes expand while her lips are pursed together, and she hisses at me, "Watch it."

"I'm sorry," I apologize. My mind runs wild. How I pray Jesus gets released, but what if he doesn't? Will they kill him? What is to come of him and his mission? Oh, I can't let my mind wander off about that. God, let your will be done. Let your will be done. Joanna bumps my arm.

"Can you see anything?" she asks.

"Not right now, I'll try though," I reply back. I stretch my neck out to try to get a glance at the stage. The two guards open up the tall golden door, and Pontius Pilate, our ruler, walks out.

He whips his long leather strip. Guards open a tall, slender door on the right side of the wall. A big, masculine man parades himself out. Two guards hold his chains around his wrists. The man stares at the crowd with a snarl on his face. A smaller door, on the left side, is opened. Jesus walks out, and my heart drops. Cuffs sag around his wrists and ankles. His body wobbles along when the guards drag him to the round platform. Pressing into his scalp is a sharp 'crown' weaved from thorns. A purple robe sags around his body. They've mocked him. They think this is a joke. I swallow hard, and catch my mouth open in disbelief.

Four small steps lead up to Pontius Pilate's tall, broad chair. Pilate stands up and yells to the crowd, "Who do you want me to release for you: Barabbas, the murderer, or Jesus, who they call the Christ?"

He shrugs his shoulders. The elders and chief priests point their fingers at Barabbas and yell, "Let Barabbas go! Destroy Jesus!"

I try to jump up through the crowd. I yell, "No, let Jesus go!" I try to scream louder, "Let Jesus go! Release Je-" My voice is slowly drowned out by the rest of the people continuing to yell for Barabbas, the murderer. No matter how loud they get, I, along with the other followers that are here, never stop yelling for the release of Jesus. The lady I accidentally bumped into earlier, jerks her head around at me.

"Jesus speaks blasphemy." She says. The lady shakes her head in disbelief, again pursing her lips together. She yells even louder, "Let Barabbas go." My heart beats fast.

Joanna tries to yell louder, "We want Jesus!" It doesn't work. There is no way Pilate can hear us now. He raises his hands to symbolize silence. Pilate points to Jesus and says, "Then what shall I do with the man who you call King of the Jews?"

"Crucify him!" A deep voice yells from the front of the crowd. Many people join him. "Crucifixion!" They yell.

My heart beats faster. "Let him go! He has done no wrong!" I say. Again, our voices are drowned out. I look at Jesus. His eyes, once open and alive, now stained purple and blue, swollen shut. His knees, once able to walk miles and miles, now bent and looking frail and weak. He stares at the ground as if he knew this would happen. I survey the people and remember our entry into this city. The same people now wanting to kill Jesus were praising him and yelling, "Hosanna!"

Pontius Pilate handles all the people's rioting voices. He motions two finger at the guards handling Barabbas. One tall, dark-skinned guard, takes out a small key and unlocks the chains on Barabbas. Pilate motions to the guards holding Jesus. They jerk Jesus to the ground, and his body lies still on the dusty, dry ground. I try to run up to the front. Joanna runs behind me, pushing through the crowds. A man runs in front of me and works his way up to the front. A lady does the same, and before I know it, we can't see anything. I try to peer through heads, and finally I am in a position to see them. Jesus shrieks out in pain as the guards start scourging him. They torturing Jesus with a long whip composed of leather and metal.

Tears fall down my face. Why does this have to happen? The crowd cheers the guards on, and I wish I could take the place for Jesus right now. Joanna huddles me in her arms as we both pray silently.