God on trial.
The maker of stars and dolphins, mountains and beach waves, sunsets and auroras, brown eyes and laughter... GOD... on trial.
Prosecutor Pilate put Jesus in the hot seat and found him without fault, declared him INNOCENT, had him slapped around a bit to satiate the hungering crowd, yet the mob ROARED. Chump Pilate washed his hands to clean soul stains he could never cleanse himself. Scoundrel Barabbas was released from his condemnation so ALL OF US scoundrels could ultimately be released from ours.
Cat o' Nine Tails whipped metal barbs and ripped flesh in chunks from strong carpenter's frame, thorny crown pressed deep, body shocked. People shamed, spit, scourned, turned away. Most don't make it to the beam. Most die in the "chambers" of Roman-handed-hell. But Jesus made it to the beam he couldn't carry up to the hill on his own, because carrying US and that beam at the same time was too much, so…
HE. CARRIED. US.
Iron spiked his arms across cypress, and “King of the Jews” scratched out in olive wood hung above his battered flesh. Sour drink. Staggered breaths. Surrendered spirit. It was finished.
FINISHED.
The temple curtain that hung heavy and thick was rent in two. Graves opened. Earth quaked. Sky was pitch as night. Darkness. This is what happens when you kill God.
DARKNESS.
