LITMIR.BIZ

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on the ground, it was known as Golgotha, The Place of the Skull.

      Jamin turned north to the sloping path of Golgotha. The air held the acrid smell of hot sand, animal dung, and cooking fires. The bitter taste of dust stung his tongue. Jamin coughed and tried to clear his throat. He started to drink from the wineskin, but stopped, remembering that he needed to save the wine for his brother.

      As he hurried further up the path, the full line of upright stipes came into view. It was the crossbeam or patibulum, that the prisoner was forced to carry from the Antonia to Golgotha. Jamin saw the men hanging from three crosses. People were shouting insults at the dying men. Anger seared his heart as spectators entertained themselves at his brother’s misery. How could they not understand the courage it took for Demas to confess his crimes, knowing he would be sentenced to death? Jamin picked up a rock to throw at a particularly vocal offender, but then he realized the scoffers were baiting only the man on the center cross.

      Jamin dropped the rock. He had been so intent on the crowd of hecklers, he had failed to acknowledge his brother. Demas was on the cross to the right of the center one. Jamin cringed in despair when he saw his little brother watching him. His heart burned with shame as he stared up into his brother’s face, shadowed with pain and exhaustion.

      Jamin croaked, “I am here, Demas. I am here.” But Demas couldn’t hear him.

      Jamin sat in the sand, cross-legged, holding his knapsack in his lap. He was relieved the birds were keeping their distance. Still, he began collecting small stones. It wasn’t until then he realized the man on the center cross was Yeshua.

      A few hecklers challenged him. “He saved others; Himself He cannot save. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, descend now from the cross, that we may see and believe,” said one after another, each thinking his insult was unique and clever.

      Jamin was going to shout his own insults when he saw Yeshua’s followers nearby, including Mary, the mother of Yeshua. He remained silent out of respect for Mary. He was losing his brother, but she, already a widow, was losing her beloved first-born child.

      When Demas and Jamin were teenagers, they lost their entire family. Eventually, the brothers made their way to Jerusalem and found work with a metal engraver named Cleopas. He and his wife, Mary, took pity on the brothers and invited them to live at their house. While staying in Jerusalem, they heard about a man called John the Baptist and his message of hope. Jamin wanted to hear John, but Demas was reluctant.

      Demas declared, “This John the Baptist is another crazy man claiming to be the Messiah. You know the Messiah will never come, not the real one. Why do you believe the ranting of some long-dead men who called themselves prophets?”

      “Don’t say that, Demas! God can hear you.”

      “God can hear you,” mimicked the younger brother with a sneer. “If God is so great why did he let the Romans kill our parents and sisters? You feel the same; you just won’t admit it. The God who let our family die was the same God who claims to love us. How does that work?”

      “God isn’t mistreating us, Demas. It is the way of the world. Don’t you listen when they read the scrolls in temple? Ever since God brought us out of Egypt, we have trusted other nations instead of him. They have always betrayed us.”

      “I don’t want to hear it. We trusted in God and look what it got us. The soldiers sold us into slavery. We were getting shipped off to who knows where. Have you forgotten? We’re just lucky we escaped.”

      “There’s no such thing as luck,” grumbled Jamin under his breath.

      They joined the crowd listening to John. He sat on a rock and spoke to the people as they gathered along the river bank. He began baptizing new believers in the river.

      His words rang out. “The living Word of God will baptize you with the Holy Spirit. He will gather his wheat into the barn and burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire. His judgment will be true and final.”

      “This is ridiculous, Jamin! He’s talking about harvesting wheat. Can we go now?”

      Jamin didn’t take his eyes off John. “Little Brother, he is talking about harvesting wheat and burning the chaff. I do not wish to be the chaff, do you? And he’s not the Messiah, but he’s talking about the Messiah. Listen!”

      Listeners began questioning John, wanting to know how to avoid condemnation. Even a Roman soldier with his squad spoke up. He had short-cropped, blonde hair and pale gray eyes. His face was marked with a scar from the right temple down to the jaw. He was an unusually tall and powerfully built man.

      The Roman gestured at himself and his men. “And what shall we do?”

      John answered, “Do not intimidate anyone or accuse anyone falsely. Be content with your wages. Enforce your laws justly.” The Roman did not reply, but spoke harshly with his fellow soldiers. He started to leave until he noticed the other soldiers were not following him. One of the soldiers started to walk toward the river, but the man with the scar called to them angrily, and they left.

      A man brushed past Jamin and Demas. He was average height, wearing simple clothing, but that could not hide his aura of authority. The man stepped into the river and approached John. No one could hear what he said, but John’s shocked reaction was unmistakable.

      John put his hand on the man’s shoulder and they both bowed their heads. The man knelt down until the water covered him. At the exact moment he came out of the water, Jamin saw a small bright light fall from the sky and settle on the man’s shoulder. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then he heard the voice. It was a powerful, resonating voice that came from everywhere at once. He glanced at his brother to see if he heard it, too. Demas was staring with wide eyes; his mouth hung slack.

      The mysterious voice declared, “This is my Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased.” Everyone gasped and looked around, trying to locate the speaker.

      “Did you see it?” exclaimed Jamin. “Did you see the beautiful light settle on him? It was as beautiful as a snow white dove. And the voice, did you hear it?”

      “The light was brilliant, yet it didn’t hurt my eyes. I heard the voice, too,”

      A stranger grumbled at the brothers. “Are you drunk? It was just thunder.”

      “Then where are the storm clouds?” Demas demanded.

      The baptized man walked out of the river. A hush fell over the crowd as they made room for him. Jamin turned to his brother. “Come on. I want to find out who he is.”

      “I don’t see him anymore,” said Demas, scanning the crowd.

      Jamin pointed at John. “Then let’s talk to him instead.” Jamin only intended to find someone who would convince his brother to stop stealing. He never thought this first conversation with John the Baptist would lead Demas to his execution.

      An intruder interrupted Jamin’s thoughts. A man wearing a fine linen tunic and an elegant gold-accented silk toga separated himself from the crowd of hecklers. His pallid skin was tightly stretched over his dominant cheekbones and forehead giving his face a skull-like appearance. His clothes hung loosely as if draped over bare bones. His sunken, pale eyes were surrounded by dark shadowing, which emphasized his penetrating gaze. The stranger approached a Roman soldier who wore the belt, caligae, and lorica musculata of a centurion. Only centurions wore the metal, muscle-contoured armor. The caligae, sandal boots, were a distinct mark of a Roman soldier. The centurion’s gladius and pugio were weapons of the highest craftsmanship, which only a privileged officer could afford. When the richly attired man drew near, the soldier turned his back.

      “Centurio!” said the stranger in a whispery voice. “May I speak with you?” Fingering his many gold necklaces, the stranger said, “Excuse me for interrupting your grand actionis militaris. I am a merchant of purple silk from Rome. The inscriptions say the men on the right and left crosses are thieves. The inscription over the center cross is not a crime if it’s true. What proof is there that he is not the Son of God?”

      Centurion

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