C.S. Humble

I imagine that he was something of a simple man with simple features from a simple town. At one time, he was just a little boy with little hands and friends who would chase him. He would laugh and chase them in return. In those moments, Joseph and Yahweh watched their son grow-up. Mary, watching on with a motherly smile, all her joy found in this young and happy boy.

 

‘Let us chase you, Jeshua.’ A young boy would call across the grassy hilltop.

 

‘You know I am not fast.’ Little Jeshua would return.

 

 

I imagine him as a shy young man, who at one moment, stepped into the waters of the
Jordan and accepted the baptism of John. His eyes focusing forward as the spirit descended down upon him, a once soft gaze of Joseph’s boy, became more understanding, brazen and filled with a vision of purpose.

 

‘Who else will be baptized in the waters of our Lord?’

 

‘I will…’

 

‘Jeshua, this is a great day for you, come join me here.’

 

 

I imagine him as a religious zealot, his reason not overtaken by his passion; his truth not overtaken by his pride. The crowds ever stepping forward while listening to this new teacher, who said that everything they knew was wrong and yet there was no reason to abandon their faith. He gave them a new perspective, an unselfish taking of faith; rooted in a love more powerful than any pillar of fire or oppressive spears. Old words, given new and unveiled meaning; purpose returned to a people who had been searching for a reason to go on. Liars, Thieves, Prostitutes and Murderers are told that the

Kingdom of
Heaven is theirs to have, if they simply serve their fellow man and love the God who has for so very long, loved them.

 

 

‘Rabbi, who are we to believe. We have been told for so long by the Priests that we are unclean.’ She cries across the crowd during a lull in the sermon.

 

‘And who was it that told you that you could not be cleansed?’ He astounds the crow further.

 

 

Begrudgingly, I imagine him on the Cross. Wearing a crown that robbed him of the dignity he wore. A king displayed for all, bearing the robes of beaten and torn naked flesh. His mouth dry and his entire body sent into spasms from the coming death that slowly crept into the body of one who had the power to create life from nothing.

 

‘I am so very tired.’ He thought to himself.

 

‘Longinus! Make sure that the man is dead.’

 

‘Harm my son no more!’ Mary cries.

 

And as the blood splatters across Longinus’ chest and face, he thinks, ‘We were wrong in what we did.’