(This fictional story based on the gospel narratives began on blog post 3-5-18).
Bartosz heart sank as he heard the sentencing. Things had gone too far. He had followed Nicodemus' lead and did his best to persuade the other Pharisees. Their words had to be chosen very carefully: Was this really necessary? Had the proper procedures been followed? Was their enough evidence? Unfortunately, Caiaphas had more influence. He had convinced everyone that Jesus must die.
Bartosz had to let Gil know before he heard it from someone else. As the crowd began to disperse, Bartosz quickly headed back. As he made his way through the crowd something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. It appeared the crowd had trampled over someone. Bartosz did a double take. “Is that?…oh please no…”. He ran quickly to the body. “Gil, Gil…” Bartosz began to cry. Their was a pool of blood behind his head. His face was swollen and bruised. Bartosz put his head to his heart. It was still beating! Bartosz ripped a part of his outer garment and wrapped it around Gil’s head. He dragged Gil’s body off to the side away from the crowd. As he sat their cradling Gil’s head in his lap, a friend happened to walk past. He begged his friend to help him carry Gil back to their lodgings.
It was several hours before Gil regained consciousness. At first he just kept softly saying “Jesus” over and over. Bartosz never left his side. By the evening Gil finally opened his eyes. He looked at Bartosz and said, “Is Jesus alive?”
Bartosz gently placed his hands on Gil’s and said, “I’m so sorry,” as he shook his head back and forth.
Tears ran down Gil’s face. How could this have happened? He closed his eyes for several more hours.
The next morning Gil awoke to intense pain. His head was throbbing and he was sure he had a few broken ribs. It was heard to breathe. It hurt to think. It was his broken heart, though, that caused Gil the most pain. Gil had so many questions and Bartosz answered them as best he could: Yes. Jesus was crucified. His death occurred quicker than expected. He was placed in a nearby tomb. No one knows where his closest disciples are. Only the one called John was at the cross. Nicodemus had offered myrrh and aloes to the mother of Jesus for his burial. That was all Bartosz knew.
Gil barely spoke the rest of the day. He just laid there allowing the stream of tears to flow forth. He couldn’t understand why God would let this happen. Why would such a holy man have to suffer such a terrible death? Why didn’t God save him? Wasn’t He the One? The day turned into night without any answers and Gil drifted off to sleep.
(to be continued…)
