The Roman guard pushed me again from behind and this time I fell.  The weight of the large wooden cross was tremendous. The guards seemed to be in a hurry. ‘Why didn’t they just kill me by the sword?’ I wondered, for I was just a thief and not a very good one. My partner and I had been caught stealing from a prominent Roman citizen. He was behind me, carrying a cross also. They were not leading us to the traditional place of crucifixion, but rather to the Skull, Golgotha. This rocky hill was usually reserved for men who had committed bad crimes. A place the Romans used for special crucifixions, for public spectacle. And we were not carrying the usual cross beam to be attached to another section. We were carrying, or dragging, the whole wooden apparatus. My body was bloody and there was much pain from the whipping they gave me. I was horrified at the thought of what was about to take place. I never dreamed I would some day die like this.

          One of the guards had to help me carry the cross up the hill; I could not do it alone. I was weak and thirsty. Once at the top of the hill, they wasted no time in further dealing out my punishment. They dropped the cross on the ground, then spun me around and pushed me down on my back on top of it. There was no use in fighting, and I had not the strength to do it. One guard grabbed one of my arms and another grabbed the other arm. They both stretched my arms out flat on the cross beam. A third Roman, who was hovering over me, took off his helmet and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He put his helmet back on and picked up the metal stake and mallet lying next to me. He never looked me in the eye. He proceeded on with his duty. It was so routine, so emotionless…

           As he pounded the stake into my wrist, I let out a scream. He never flinched, just kept hammering. The pain was excruciating. There was warmth flowing down my arm. He immediately went to my other side. I tried to pull up that arm but couldn’t as it was being held down. A stake then entered my left wrist with velocity. Pain struck from that side now, my body lurched. The Roman kept pounding. The whole thing was so fast and so routine. The other two then bent my knees slightly and held my feet together flat on the base of the cross, one on top of each other. A piercing pain shot through my body once again from my feet. I screamed and everything went dark for a moment. A wave of nausea came over me. There was more hammering. I then felt my body being lifted off of the ground. I heard loud voices. I felt the rags that were my clothing rip off of my body. My wrists were now numb, it was hard to breathe. There was a scream from below, no doubt my friend as I heard the sound of metal on metal. Something popped in my back as they dropped me and the tool of my death into the hole they had dug. Suddenly I could not breathe at all… now darkness.

            There was labored gasps and groans in my ears and I realized it was myself trying to breath. I opened my eyes and could see once again. Being stretched out in this way made it impossible to breathe. I pulled up with my arms and pushed down with my legs so that I could get a breath of air. As I did, pain shot through my body from all of my wounds. I kept doing it though, slowly, methodically, every time I would take in a breath of air. The price for precious air was much pain. I was finally able to breathe like this but I knew I wasn’t going to last long. I would rather suffocate than do this for very long. I looked over at my friend to the right of me. He was up on his cross as well. I heard him gasping for air, but I knew he would figure out how to do it himself. The wood of my cross was scraping my already raw back.  There was much more pain. This is what the Romans felt was a fitting death for thieves. I was going to die when I could no longer pull myself up for air. As terrified as I was of death, I only wished it would happen soon. The sun was hot on my face and my throat was dry and sore. I did not care that I was naked to the world, it didn’t matter. The guards had already left the hill. Their duty was done. We were left there alone, left to die. 

I must have blacked out again; as I was coming to, I could hear voices. I turned to my right and watched my friend hanging there, grimacing. We hadn’t said anything to each other; it would be hard to speak. I couldn’t even swallow. And what was there to say? The pain of my body was constant and excruciating. The voices were getting closer, it sounded like a crowd approaching. I looked down in the direction of the sound as several Roman guards topped the hill. There was a man behind them carrying a cross like ours.1  More guards came over the edge of the hill. As I watched, my eyes were drawn to an appalling sight. A man was slowly staggering up the slope between the guards, he had been badly beaten, his face and beard covered with blood, his clothes shredded and stained.2   He could barely walk. There was some kind of thorny apparatus stuck on his head. ‘My God, what could this man have done to deserve this?’ I thought. There was a small crowd of people walking behind him. I could hear some of them shouting insults. As they came closer, two of the guards pulled the cross off of the first man and shoved him aside. He stumbled and ran off. He had been carrying the cross for the other man. The crowd of people had all come over the top of the hill now. Some appeared to be angry and others, including some women, appeared to be very distressed.3  There must have been thirty guards. Some were gathered around the beaten man and others were holding the crowd back, they stood facing the people with their spears held out in front of them. 

I turned to my right to look at my friend. He was looking at me; his expression was that of bewilderment. Then he turned and looked down at the commotion below. My arms and legs ached and every time I moved, even slightly, the pain charged through my body as if to remind me that it wasn’t going away until I died. I hung there contemplating death, and not wanting to watch them nail what was left of that man to his cross. I closed my eyes and tried to shut out what was happening. “Crucify him!” rang out from below. I looked down at the crowd that was being held back. Several angry men were shouting but at the same time I could hear sobbing. ‘Why was this person drawing so much attention?’ I wondered. I looked at the man again being held by a centurion. At that moment it occurred to me who this was they were killing. This must have been the one some were calling the king of the Jews. Jesus was his name; he had been in the city for some time and had caused quite a stir among the people in power. Some of the Jews were claiming him the son of God himself. Others were calling him a fraud and a blasphemer. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wooden beam that was killing me. The crowd of spectators suddenly grew quiet, and I heard the sound of metal on metal. 

Some time passed, I was fading in and out of consciousness; all I could think about was dying. Even though I was so very hot, my body was trembling. I was so thirsty, so very miserable. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of labored breathing, it was close to me. I opened my eyes and turned my head to the right and there was the man Jesus, hanging on His cross. They had placed Him between my friend and me.4   He was no more than ten feet from me. He was covered with blood, but still alive. As I was watching Him, I heard him say out loud,  "… Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34).  I was in total awe. Why was this man forgiving these people after what they had done to him? And who was he talking to? Father? A strange feeling came over me. I just hung there staring at him. Most of the crowd had moved on now but several men were still passing by looking up at Jesus and yelling insults at Him and mocking Him.5                 

After some time the people had all gone away except for several women who were huddled together on the ground at a distance and one guard who was placed there to watch over us. The sun was high in the sky; its heat was burning my tortured body. My thoughts of death and my misery had now turned to wonderment and immense curiosity over this person who was hanging next to me. It was silent now; nothing could be heard but the breeze blowing through the small trees that surrounded the hill, and the sounds of three men in pain desperately trying to breathe.  

The silence was suddenly broken by a growling sound that came from my friend. I looked over at him and he was leaning toward Jesus and me. He was desperately trying to say something.  He coughed and spit and tried again, "…Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!" (Luke 23:39).   I couldn’t believe what I had heard. He was hanging there snarling at Jesus for no reason. I suddenly felt compelled to defend this stranger. I attempted to clear my throat then spoke the first words since being hung up there, “…Don't you fear God," … "since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong." (Luke 23:40-41).  Jesus slowly turned His bloodied head and looked at me. He said nothing. He had a warm and reassuring look on His face. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but suddenly I realized that this was not merely a man hanging there. He was something very special. He was here for a reason, one that I had no understanding of. I was sure He was the son of God, The God of Israel, the one and only God. Why was I hanging on a cross dying next to the Son of the Almighty? What purpose could this possibly serve?  

I felt sudden courage to address Him as who he was and said, "…Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." (Luke 23:42).  Still looking at me He replied in a soft voice, "…I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." (Luke 23:43).  A smile slowly came across my parched lips.   Jesus turned his head and looked to the sky. Even as it was mid day, darkness began to cover the hill.6      I was no longer afraid.                                                                   I was surely ready to die now.

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace. (Ephesians 1:7)

And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death-- even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:8-11)

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 1  A certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country, and they forced him to carry the cross. They brought Jesus to the place    called Golgotha (which means The Place of the Skull).   (Mark 15:21-22) 

 2   I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard; I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting.   (Isaiah 50:6)

 3  A large number of people followed him, including women who mourned and wailed for him.    (Luke 23:27)

 4   Two robbers were crucified with him, one on his right and one on his left.  (Matthew 27:38)

 5  Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads and saying, "You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself! Come down from the cross, if you are the Son of God!"  (Matthew 27:39-40)

 6   From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land.  (Matthew 27:45)