Novels, Dragons, and Wardrobe Doors: Lead Me To The Cross

Lead me down a dusty road, seeing in the distance a city-covered hill. Dirt crunches beneath the sandals of dozens of weary travelers, some on donkeys or carts, most on foot, each looking forward to the bed they hope to find.

Lead me to enter that city, packed to the brim with Jews from all over the country, who are blissfully unaware that this is the Passover that will change mankind forever.

Lead me after two men on a mission, confused at their mission, but believing in their rabbi. There is excitement and astonishment from the men when they realize that the rabbi's words were true, patting the coarse hair of the colt they sought.

Lead me to follow a processional that causes a louder response than anyone had expected. "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" Palm branches and discarded coats litter the streets as people scramble to make way for a carpenter on a donkey.

Lead me to a room, less than a week later, where twelve men sit around a table, each silently convicted when their teacher says quietly, "One of you will betray me." Peter, once known as Simon, the unwitting, unofficial leader, lifts his voice with that trademark temper, "Oh, Lord, I would never betray you!" There is gentle pain in the rabbi's eyes.

Lead me to a garden, in the hush of night, following four men, two of them with torches, three of them left behind. The rabbi walks by himself for awhile, silent. Soon, a sudden weight seems to push him to his knees. Tears run down his worn face. "Father," he cries, seeming to speak to empty air, "Take this cup from me. I don't want this burden." He stops, leaning his forearms against a rock, his hands clenched together. His brow is furrowed, sweat beading his leather-like skin, and his shoulders lift slightly. "Not my will but yours be done." His voice is so quiet it's almost a whisper. That whisper echoes in the courts of the Most High; the angels looking crestfallen at the words.

Lead me to those he left behind, huddled together under a tree. The torches have long since gone out, and Peter stretches and yawns. "How long is this going to take? I'm exhausted." John laughs, rubbing his hands over his tired face. "Nah. Remember when he spent more then a month in the desert? When Jesus prays, Jesus prays." They chuckle, but an uneasy feeling is still among them. "Do you think he meant what he said at dinner?" James asks, "Surely one of us wouldn't betray him."

Lead me to a group of strangely silent men, with torches and swords. All feel something pressing on their chest, knowing something in this is wrong. Most ignore it, too caught up in their anger, or in following orders. A few hesitate for just a moment, but give in to the pressure. All see the three men under the tree, Peter's snores ringing through the trees. All come upon the rabbi, and the rabbi keeps praying. The angels watch from the Most High's hall, Michael preparing his warriors for a rescue mission should the distress call come.

Lead me to Judas Iscariot, who is listening to the voice in his ear which says "Betray him." One kiss, and the courts of heaven go silent. Peter roars in anguish and anger, launching himself at the man he considered a friend. John stops him, though he must also stop himself from following suit. The rabbi looks not mad, but heartbroken. He puts up no fight when the soldiers take him, makes no move to stop the three who run.

Lead me to the High Priest's courtyard, where Peter slowly enters, rubbing his hands together against the chill. A servant girl tilts her head, squinting at him. "You were with him." It isn't a question. Peter hesitates, crossing his arms. "No. You must be thinking of someone else." Twice more, and his temper flares. "I do not know the man!" A rooster crows. Peter's stomach drops.

Lead me to a Roman court, where the governor is nervous. An innocent man may die today, and it will be his fault. His wife has begged him to release the rabbi, but the religious leaders will not relent. Then he sees the way out. Ask the people. Let it be on their consciences, not his.

Lead me to another crowd, this one excited in a different way. They get a choice. "Release Barabbus!" They cry, and though the governor is confused, he relents.

"What shall we do with this one, whom you have called Messiah?"

"Crucify him! Crucify him!"

Lead me down a road, stained with blood, where countless others had trudged to their death. The rabbi is beaten, his skin striped with blood, his face dripping with sweat that stings the punctures on his forehead. He stumbles, and the soldiers kick him until he steadies himself. Most of the crowd jeers, here for entertainment, and getting their fill. But some are here for him. They have come to protest, to weep, to mourn.

Lead me to a hill, called The Skull, where thousands of criminals have been put to death. Where an innocent man will be punished for a far greater crime. A soldier, war-hardened and under orders, shoves the rabbi against the cross, expecting, as before, for the man to struggle. But the rabbi does not pull away. He stretches out his own arm, watching as the spike is driven in, rending his flesh and causing more blood to flow. The torture device is raised, and the sacrifice begins.

Lead me to the heart of a thief, frustrated by another, who somehow has enough dignity in these last hours to mock the rabbi. A rabbi who has done nothing wrong. A rabbi whom he did not deserve even to die beside. In a final, desperate, broken plea, he says, "Lord... Remember me when you come into your kingdom." The rabbi smiles, though it hurts him to do so. "My son," he says gently, and the thief knows, "You will be with me in paradise."

Lead me to the court of the Most High, where the true nature of the event is revealed. Where the angels watch as every sin of every sinner from the time of Creation is placed on the rabbi, that the Most High might pour out His wrath on the only one who could ever withstand it. Where after more pain than has ever been endured, an unprecedented event occurs. The Father, no longer able to stand the sight of sin, turns His away from a man. Angels gathered around are shocked, many still waiting for a nod, a word, even just a glance that says "Come". But with a final breath and a whisper that turns into a scream as it ripped through the cosmos, the Son dies. And the Enemy smiles.

Lead me to the man who volunteers, who needs, to bury the body. In a spotless tomb, the corpse is wrapped quickly, in anticipation of the coming Sabbath. Convinced that the rabbi's followers will try something to further his claims of Messiah, religious leaders seal the tomb, soldiers posted on either side of the door.

Lead me to the heart of a woman who feels as though she has nothing left to live for. The rabbi gave her life. And now that life has gone. When the Sabbath is over, she gathers spices to properly prepare the body. Her Lord will not remain in this state, she is determined. But something is wrong when she arrives. The massive, impossibly heavy stone is already moved. With a horrified cry, she rushes inside, the other women she has brought with her trailing behind. The body is gone. She falls to the ground, clutching empty wrappings and feeling as if another piece of her heart has shattered. He is gone... again. But with a flash, to men stand before them, in gleaming white robes that are so bright it hurts to look. "We know you seek Jesus of Nazareth," they say, "but the living cannot be among the dead." Someone stands behind her, and she turns to clutch his robe. "Please, sir. Do you know where they've taken him?"

"Mary."

And she weeps, for this is him. Him. The One who mended every broken shard of her heart, the One who called her out of such darkness that she would have drowned. The One she calls "Rabbi".

Lead me to a room, the same as before, where ten men are scared beyond reason. Surely they will be next. They didn't even stay to see the body moved... they couldn't. They couldn't stand the thought that he really was dead. But Mary knows where they are, and she has news that they don't believe. "He's alive! Peter, he's alive!" Peter's mind says "it cannot be", but his heart cries "please". Please let it be true. With John on his heels, he tears through the streets, knowing where the tomb is, though he isn't sure how. He sees the cloths and he knows. He knows, somewhere deep within that it is true.

Jesus is alive.

Lead me to a bedroom, two thousand years later, where an eight-year-old girl is sitting on her bed, a thoughtful expression on her face. Her daddy sits beside her, trying to keep from grinning, because although he is excited, he knows that she is completely serious. The girl's mother stands in the doorway, wanting to hear the conversation, but also wrangling two younger siblings. "Daddy?" The girl gives him a little smile. "What do I pray to ask Jesus in my heart?" Now the man can't contain his smile.

The miracle is still alive. The tomb is still empty. The courts of the Most High still ring out with praise. That little girl's life was changed by the first Easter morning. She's still not perfect, but she knows the rabbi. And she loves him so much. And he loves her even more.