Pilate had made a royal proclamation! Had the infernal heat caused him to lose a wit?
‘This man is the enemy of Caesar!’ Caiaphas shrieked, outraged, ‘We renounce him!’
‘Rome has no quarrel with this Messiah!’ Pilate gave back, ‘His kingdom, he freely admits, is not of this world, and we are not concerned with him as long as he gives dignity to the name of Caesar!
‘We renounce him!’ echoed the people.
‘Does this mean you will never demand liberation from Rome?’ he sat forward on his seat. ‘Does this mean that you will renounce all those who call for a Messiah, a King of Israel in future times? Think carefully!’
Gloom fell over the court.
Caiaphas yelled out, ‘We have no king but Caesar!’
Uncertainty moved over the faces of the people. Cassius himself could not believe that a Jew, let alone a high priest had spoken these words. This was indeed the strangest of days!
‘And so you have spoken!’ shouted Pilate. ‘This means, therefore, that I am not responsible for your madness!’
Ananias answered it, ‘No…let the responsibility lie with us, let the blood of this man be on our own heads, and on the heads of our children!’
Pilate called to an attendant. ‘So it shall be!’ he said, ‘You have spoken not only for your own, sorry selves, but also for those Jews who love him and have no part in this, and are outside this square only because they would not take your money! Well then! I wash my hands of it…bring me water!’
The attendant brought water in a pitcher, which was poured over the Governor’s hands, as was his custom. When he had wiped them clean with a towel he stood and said to the crowds, ‘I pronounce myself innocent of the blood of this just man!’ Then to his scribes, ‘Write this down…having been compelled, for fear of an insurrection, to yield to the wishes of the high priest of the Sanhedrin and the people who demanded the death of Jesus of Nazareth, I have handed him over to the guards for crucifixion; and upon his titulus will be written, in all three languages of the land, in Latin, Greek and Hebrew, his crime: INRI…Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaerum – Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews!’
A great shouting now came from the priests.
‘You cannot name him thus! You have no right to give him that title!’
‘What is written is written!’ Pilate dismissed and ordered Cassius to take Jesus away.
Cassius felt dreariness in his soul as he took the man through the crowds but he had not a moment to dwell on it, since a great clamour and uproar now broke out over the titulus and all his thoughts turned to keeping the peace.
69
VIA DOLOROSA
Wearing the seamless robe she had made him those years ago her son, bounded by four soldiers and led by a centurion, was taken to his death through the streets of Jerusalem carrying the patibulum, or crosspiece, to which his arms were tied. It rested on his shoulders and the weight of it combined with his wounds, his thirst and his exhaustion, made him lose his balance.
People lined the narrow streets, shouting obscenities and jeering, and beyond these shadows of evil she stood with Magdalena, Lazarus-John, and her sister-in-law Mary of Cleophas. The procession headed north from the praetorium to the place of execution outside the city walls and so it descended through the streets until it came through the gate of the first wall.
Here, she did not hear the people taunting him, she did not hear the lament of the women, she did not see the Romans whipping his body and making all his wounds deeper, she saw only her son, and her God, and they saw her. His eyes asked:
Where is Simon-Peter, why has he not come to help me carry my cross? Where are my disciples? Where are my followers? Are they still asleep?
She could not answer him, for she knew not where they were. Instead she took upon herself his suffering, so that she knew how heavy was the wood that tore at the ligaments of his lacerated shoulders, how hard was the way over the stones with his bare feet full of cuts and sores and gashes, she felt how his head throbbed from the thorns that continued to pierce it, how great was his thirst, which made his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth, how the chills of fever shook him to his very centre, and how his entire being screamed with hurts because his wounds, both physical and spiritual, made inroads into his heart.
She understood now that this passion had begun the moment the God had entered into Jesus at his baptism, and that is was culminating in this dolorous way to his voluntary sacrifice.
His petition to her at the cenacle had never seemed more difficult than now. How was she to rise above her suffering in order to transform it into love? Love even for those Romans who called out abuse and dragged him by his weeping arms, scraping his skinless knees to raise him, love for the centurion who carried the titulus which would be nailed to his cross, love for his judges and executioners, love for those who were full of hate, who abused him for his alleged profanity from the rooftops and threw stones and rubbish at him.
The last gate out of the city was situated in the busy suburb of Akra and it opened onto the road that led to the place of execution. Here he fell and could not get up no matter how many times he was whipped. This forced a halt in the cohort of Romans headed by Pilate that came from behind escorting two more malefactors also destined for crucifixion.
Outside the first gate, in this suburb, those who loved her son outnumbered those who were swayed by the hate of the Sanhedrin and those who were paid to taunt him. They begged the Romans to stop beating and kicking him. But the Romans returned the supplications of the people with blows from their staves and whips. This commotion diverted the soldiers long enough to allow her a space in which to come near to him. Leaving the others behind her she went down on her knees and crawled to where he lay on the cobbles with his arms pinned down by the cross piece. She put her face to the ground so that he might see her and put a hand to his hair, matted and bloodied, to remove it from his disfigured eyes.
From somewhere came the smell of roses.
He looked at her and her heart trembled. She gasped for breath and in that gasp a window in time was opened and held still. This was the last moment between them and when this meeting flew away she would not come so close again, until he was dead.
‘I thirst!’ he said, and there was the trace of a smile in his misshapen face.
‘You are always thirsty!’ she answered, smiling through the tears, ‘But I have no water that tastes of wine to give you my son!’
She could say nothing more for there were no wise and useful words left to her only sorrow-filled ones and these were held back for fear of breaking the enchantment of the moment.
‘Get up woman!’ a voice said, and she felt herself dragged away from him, away from those eyes.
‘Leave her be Abenader! That is the mother!’ she recognised this voice, ‘See to him, or he will die before he gets to his execution! It will not do to lose him now after he has come so far! Find someone to help him!’ It was the same centurion from the night before, the one upon his horse, his voice and words recalled to her mind that moment at the gates of Jerusalem those many years ago. He ordered a guard to take a pagan Greek from the crowd.
‘Tu! Imbecile! Adiuvo! Sic! Tu! Imbecile! Adi-u-vo!’ Then he shouted in Greek, ‘Arêxis! You’re not a Jew, I know who you are, you’re the Greek stonemason…lift him up, you Greek bag of dung!’
He pushed him towards her son and after some further coaxing the man took him by an arm and lifted him to his feet.
Her son gave her one last look before the man helped him onwards.
She was taken with dizziness then, and Lazarus-John held her as the procession moved on.
And for a small time she did not see him.
70
DESTINY
By the time the procession arrived at the topmost aspect of the rocky plateau they called Golgotha, the preparations for the crucifixion were near finished. It was almost the seventh hour and the Romans were resting, half dressed, drinking wine and rolling dice. When they saw that P
ilate was among the cohort of soldiers they stood and put away their drink and made a small effort to look like soldiers.
Claudia Procula looked upwards to a sky drowned in cloud. The wind was stronger and the world was lulled by it into movement and when the cold air crossed her face after the heat of day it caused her to shiver. She pushed ahead of the crowds to come closer to the cross. She saw that Jesus had slipped and had fallen upon a rock. His moans made inroads into the hearts of the women nearby and moved her, to her very sinews with compassion.
She saw her husband inspecting his men. He did not look like the man she loved, like the father of her child. He seemed a stranger to her and yet so confused was her heart that even as he prepared to leave the hillock, with that look of a man who has no floor on which to stand, a desire rose up in her to go to him. But she did not go to him and he did not see her, for she was once again dressed as a Jew and among the women relatives of Jesus.
The centurion called Abenader took a cup to where lay Christ Jesus and offered it to him. She knew it was wine blended with wormwood – to stupefy those who would suffer the coming punishment. Christ Jesus refused it. No. He would not yield to ordinary weakness. He was destined to suffer without quarter and to surrender himself only when all was done.
The guards tore off the garments from that aching, bleeding, weeping body full of lacerations, welts and swellings, dividing amongst themselves their spoils – all except his robe. They threw dice for it and laughed among themselves.
She looked away, for naked was he made to lie on the ground so that the guards could nail his wrists to the crosspiece. Blow after blow was struck until the tapered nail, having pierced deep into the flesh, was finally sunk into the wood.
She near fainted, for she felt his moans as hers, and his burning pain moved over her own arms and it seemed unbearable to her this burning, a mighty conflagration!
Blood gushed over the archers and they cursed it.
Gaius Cassius looked about but with his bad eyes failed to see her. He cursed the archers and told them to hurry.
The two criminals were also nailed to their cross pieces and the sounds of their constant, woeful screaming reached the darkening vaults of heaven and made the world seem like a place full of torment. She looked to the woman called Magdalena. She had fallen on the ground and was taking up dirt into her hands to rub into her hair and her face. She wept and wept.
The archers had begun dragging Jesus to his feet and were now pulling him to the post wedged into a hole in the ground. Two men on ladders lifted his body until the post found the slot in the cross piece, and then he was let go. The crosspiece came down with the full force of Jesus’ weight on his wounds, causing a great tearing and bleeding. All around her the sound of moans continued as the guards came off their ladders and took up their nails to hammer in the feet, but it took long, many blows of the hammer were struck before the bones were shattered.
After that came the convulsing of the entire body, which moved of its own accord. She could not bear it.
Claudia fell. She heard crickets in her ears and all went to black before the world was returned again and with it a thought. She realised that ill did not attract ill after all! Only a great light, a great goodness could raise the hackles of evil in such a way and cause it to cast a dark shadow such as this!
At that very moment, Gaius Cassius, by some instinct, turned away from his work of overseeing the butchery and let his clouded eyes roam the crowds until they fell on her. His face bespoke bewilderment and surprise and his mouth came open slightly, as if he would speak. But he said nothing.
Of a sudden open to her heart was the thread of destiny that bound them and would continue to bind them from life to life. But in the same breath it slipped away from her, leaving only a faint trace of a memory, like a taste in the mouth of something sweet.
He returned to his work then, and she realised with relief that again he had not seen her.
71
SOPHIA
At the foot of her son’s cross, amid the dark-full outburst of elements Mariam’s soul fell open. Now, all the waking dreams of worlds, all the wisdom that unites their intelligences and weaves them together, all that came from the sphere of the Virgin, the virginal selfhood of heaven, entered her fully. It was as though the Great Mother in heaven had leant her clothes to the smaller mother below to adorn her with her glory!
Her son’s words spoke in her soul,
‘Mother! Behold Lazarus-John, he is now your son!’
She looked to the young man and knew that his soul was ready for wisdom.
Her son now told the young man, ‘Lazarus-John, behold my Mother. See in her the Sophia, the wisdom that lives in me, this you must henceforth recognise as yours! Take this wisdom into the housing of your soul and dedicate yourself to it!’
Two worlds came together then, above and below, for the wisdom that was hers was bestowed upon Lazarus-John, as a gift.
The sky stooped over and made a tumble of the wind.
She heard her son say, once again, that he was thirsty.
The centurion battered by the gusts soaked a sponge in wine vinegar and put it through the end of a stick to lift it to her son’s lips.
The wind railed against it.
The soldiers took up their weapons and began to flee the storm.
Only the two centurions remained.
From the cross Jesus said to the Christ in him, ‘Eli Eli lama sabachthani. My God, my God, how you have elevated me!’ and Christ spoke then to the Holy Spirit above him, ‘Why have you forsaken me?’ And then He said, ‘Father…into your hands I commend my spirit…’
She felt death come as he said, ‘It…is…accomplished!’
With these words, she felt a great release and she would have fallen, if not for Lazarus-John.
These words had fired in the east a spirit-light that could be seen far away in the west by the Druid priests in their stone circles. They saw it in the quality of the fine upper airs and in the colour of the auras around the shadow of the stones that a healing force was entering the world to save it from death.
But in the east, from whence came the light, a great rumble was heard. For the powers of death, frustrated and furious began now to assail the world and the wind stirred dust made a cloud rise that blotted out the sun, and darkened the day, seeking to eclipse the day-radiant light of Christ as it entered the ethereal round.
Fear and fury was felt by the evil ones, those darknesses that had held sway on earth until now. These beings, wedded to the shadows shrieked with pain and with anger when He came before them in all His power! For the spirit of Christ had overcome death, their master, and was now descending into the centre of the earth, that place which they call Hell, to imprison and to fetter all that was evil for a thousand years.
And it was from Golgotha, that a crack was made in the earth, and it tore its way over the ground to that other Mount on which stood the Temple of the Jews – the Mount of Zion.
72
FOUR VEILS
Caiaphas was in the Temple with Ananias preparing for the evening ritual when two Pharisees burst into the court with their eyes wide in their pale faces. He knew they were afraid, they were all afraid. The events of these last hours had all men jumping out of their skins.
But not Caiaphas.
He sighed and scratched his back absently. Would this day never end?
‘What do you want?’
One man said, ‘We’ve come to ask why you have not dispatched the Levites to Golgotha? They have to break the bones of those men before the beginning of the Sabbath so that they can be taken down!’
Caiaphas did not like being told. He said, ‘Impossible! It is too late, soon is sunset, besides, I have to go and kindle the incense.’ He began to ascend the steps.
But those dreadful Pharisees would not be put off.
‘Listen Caiaphas, there is time. If not, the families will have to wait until after the feast to bury them.’
‘So
what?’ he said looking at the fools. ‘Let them rot for a few days on their crosses…what harm can it do? It may be a good thing to let the birds have their fill of Jesus’ pitiful carcass. Let all men see it as they come and go! That way whoever passes will be reminded that Jesus of Nazareth was not a god, just a liar full of his own importance!’
He turned to go but was prevented by the other man.
‘No!’ the stubborn Pharisee countered. ‘The Sanhedrin must comply with the law. This Sabbath is a High day, Caiaphas, and you know as well as we that when the Sabbath falls on the second Paschal day the law is even more strict! How can the people celebrate the Feast of the Unleavened Bread with the smell and sight of carrion meat outside the gates!’
Caiaphas sighed a weary and bored sigh and waved a hand as if he were shooing a fly. ‘Very well, you may send three guards.’
‘But the Romans won’t allow it unless you go, Caiaphas!’ said the other annoying Pharisee, ‘for without you the soldiers have no authority.’
Caiaphas turned an indolent eye upon the man, a look that could wither a plant, but it did nothing to change the resolve on that stubborn face. ‘The lot, dear Solomon, has fallen to me, I must kindle the incense…do you see how impossible it is?’
‘If you send the captain of the guards with the lance of Phineas,’ Ananias offered from behind them, ‘the Romans will know that a mandate has been given and they must demure before it.’
Caiaphas was full of pleasure for this suggestion since the lance of Phineas had been that lance used to kill those idolaters and adulterers who had also not complied with the laws of Moses. There was a species of poetic eloquence in using it against Jesus. He wished that he had thought of it himself!
After he gave the orders that it be done he ascended the three steps to commence the ritual burning of the incense. At this point a speck of a feeling announced itself, a feeling against all logic. He pushed it back into the dull corners of his ill used heart and tried to preoccupy himself with his task, but it would not go away, it would have his ear until finally, it spread apart the curtains of his mind and announced itself loudly:
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