Agony. Acute agony…
if perfect love casts out fear, then what is this?
The unpleasant emotions caused by the mere thought….
did he look forward with his all knowing eye? Or did he limit himself and experience it as it unfolded?
…apprehension of the unknown. I imagine that he experienced it; let himself experience it.
The fear. The threat of danger. Breathing in, holding back, letting go.
Danger, pain, harm. Embracing it…
He swallows, and allows the blows, his body responding to the forces with surrender.
A hand in his hair jerks his head around, pulling it into a blow. And his skin breaks beneath the hand woven by his dreams in the womb…the precious hand. Joy twisted and turned crashes into him, bruising his face.
Words burn little holes through the fragile shell of emotions he’s given the human being that he himself has become.
Sorrow, rejection, and lonliness – ah lonliness…his friendly little companion. Whimpering it scuttles up to him, and looks up at him pathetically.
he falls beneath the blows, but he holds hope out like a torch in a storm. Inside he is screaming out hope.
Words in a language only He and his father knows, inside he calls out; for strength that can withstand the forceful blows being reined down upon him. The words – the declarations more painful than the fists.
And as their blows fall the scent of perfume is disturbed. It is reintroduced, mingled with the scent of his own blood.
Strength, her tear streaked face wavers into his conscousness. He feels her kisses on his feet…
He is pumled to the floor, and dragged up again for more. Blood drips into his eyes…
Accusations – and still, the oil is ruffled as their hands grab for him and yank him from person to person, wafting into him. Her prayers. Her gratitude.
He knows they will go home with her praise on them.
They will attempt to wash it from them with mingled curiosity and disgust…
Oils they cannot even afford….
He is pulled from the room, a rooster cries out, he looks up and Peters stricken face greets him.
oh Peter! Compassion for the broken man fills him as he is pulled along and Peter is lost from view.
The rooster crows again, and again…
Jesus prays for Peter, jerked along. Anger has brought a tense and uncomfortable silence. The men dragging him along are angry enough and confused enough to upset the people they pass.
Curious eyes inspect him, he breathes in and out, aware of everything.
Everything pushes in on him, the devil laughing, still taunting him, still making viable physical promises…the demons screaching. It is not just human voices tearing at him…he wants to push it all away, but he allows it to converge on him.
I am willing, he declares again and again.
He breathes in her worship. He inhails her worship.
His body is so tired…he wants to sleep. But he has trained for this. Waken early, prayed thru the watches of the night.
His timing always perfect.
He inhails again.
He inhails again.
He inhails again.
I will. I will restore.
I Am restoring.
The maid runs in and whispers to Pilot. Pilot eyes Jesus,
Choices. He gives everyone a choice, Jesus looks back into Pilots eyes.
The man clenches his fists with undecision, his fingers working as if theyre touching something soft in his palm.
The eyes of war. Killer eyes. They look Jesus over, making their own decision based on stategy and philosophy. And fear. Always the human heart follows fear in an attempt to overcome disaster…
Jesus is pulled from the room.
Does he know how long it will take?
Does he ask?
Or does he remain in the moment?
Does he know? Does he let himself know?
Does he, eventually, when Pilot orders him to be handed over to the gaurd, does he let himself know his fate?
Or does he walk into it uncertain?
When the tie him up, his body exposed to their criticism and will, does he know how bad it will be?
Or does he experience it as one would for the first time? Shock, and pain, and resistance? Does he fight to remain tied there?
Still, the perfume envelopes him.
Her worship dripping down his face -mingled in his blood, sweat, and tears.
(Matthew 26:7,Mark 14:3,Luke 7:37)