A Stray Drop of Blood by White Roseanna M

Author:White, Roseanna M. [White, Roseanna M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WhiteFire Publishing
Published: 2010-07-20T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Abigail heard the people mock him. The criminal on his left. The soldiers beneath him. But Jesus would not fight back. He would hurl no insults. He would acknowledge no demands. Their cries of “Save yourself if you are the Son of God!” went ignored and unanswered.

By that time, the clouds on the horizon had obscured the sun, lending the entire event an ominous current. The electricity in the air must have had everyone on edge; the masses erupted in shouting, cursing, and insults aimed not only at those hanging before them, but at each other.

Abigail barely paid it heed. Her attention was riveted on the face that she could see on top of the middle cross, where Jesus listened in agony to the mockery that was hurled his way. She had gotten back to her feet at some point; she could not have said when. She kept her eyes on one point only, and had only blinked when necessary. When they offered him vinegar on a sponge, she was watching when he refused it. When they hung the sign Pilate had made, she read “This is Jesus, King of the Jews” in all three languages. The words stung with equal force in each one.

No one understood what it meant to be king of the Jews. The Hebrews thought it should be a position of honor and resented that such a wretch would call himself by such a name. Did they not remember that Israel should have had no king but God? That even the wise and successful kings like David and Solomon had faltered, failed, and been torn by bloodshed and sin? To be Israel’s king was not so much an honor as an allotment. And Rome–Rome thought Israel was a broken nation. They appointed their leaders, changed their titles on a whim . . . all according the will of Caesar, not of God.

But Jesus, as he looked out over the swarms of angry people, arms stretched wide and chest heaving, reigned supreme in ways none of them could ever know. Abigail wished he would call down his legions of angels, just to show this faithless generation that he was the Son of God. But she knew he would not. The man whose face held her gaze was humble, low, and weighed down by the sins of them all. As his eyes brushed over the faces in the crowd, brushed over hers, her heart swelled up. He knew them all. He saw their souls. And even as he loved them, he mourned for their failings. The longer he hanged, the more she could see its weight upon him.

The other criminals still spoke, probably numb to the pain. One cursed Jesus, the other cursed the first and begged Christ to make a place for him in his kingdom.

Jesus looked over at the dying man on his right and offered a bruised smile. Abigail saw his mouth move and could hear just enough to make out his words. “You will surely be with me in Paradise.

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