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The Sign
by Julie Michaelson
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Pilate also wrote a title
and put it on the Cross;
it read;
"Jesus of Nazareth,
King of the Jews".
Many of the Jews read
this title, for the place
where Jesus was Crucified
was near the city;
and it was written in
Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek.
The chief priests of the Jews
then said to Pilate,
Do not write 'The King of the Jews',
'This Man said, I am the
King of the Jews'.
Pilate answered,
What I have written,
I have written.
[John 19:19-22]
Satan cowered in the corner
of the room, his hands cold
and perspiring; would his
slave be able to change the
Roman's mind? He had been
so happy, so GLEEFUL these
past few marvelous days!
And, now, quite suddenly,
all because of a stupid slip
of the stylus,
all his hopes and dreams
might be dashed! Fervently,
he waited, and peered
feverishly at his newest
conquest: the Pharisee
who had come to make his
complaint to the Roman
leader, Pilate.
"What is it NOW, Pharisee?
I am about to have my
morning meal, and still
you people continue to

"Yes, sir! I am immensely
grateful for everything you
have done for us today, but...."

What is it NOW?
My men have told me
that you wish to have
ANOTHER word with me!
Be quick about it, Pharisee;
I am about to join my wife
for breakfast."

"Yes, yes! Of course, sir!
There is just one thing, sir,
I must bring to your

Pilate, quite happy to
wash his hands of this
entire Incident, became
even more irritated, with
this obnoxious little man before him.
"Get ON with it, then!
Say it, and be done with you!
ALL of you! I am sick of
the LOT of you, Pharisee!"

(Satan screwed up his
eyes with intense interest.
He began to bite on the
slippery wet knuckles of his clenched fists.)
The Pharisee spoke again.
"Yes, sir! There is something
AMISS, here! You must have
this sign CHANGED!"

Pilate sat back down on his seat
cushion, setting his forehead
in the palm of his hand. The
pain in his head had begun
to ebb a bit, after he had
sent all of these rather
bothersome town leaders
away! He thought he had
finished with the whole
Mess; now, the pain was
"What are you speaking
of, Pharisee? I have written
the crime for which you
attested: that this Jesus
of Nazareth is the King of
the JEWS! What ELSE
do you WANT?"

(At the sound of Pilate's
words, Satan miserably cowered
even lower in his dark,
and shadowy corner. Just
His Name being made audible,
was enough to fire a
viciously bright, and agonizingly
painful spark of light,
into his lovely dark abode.
Oh, but what a
wonderful day this was to
have been! If only this
idiot Pilate wasn't such
a fool!)
The Pharisee spoke:
"Sir, all of us object to
what you have written.
It is certainly NOT the
truth! This Man is NOT
our King! I am here to
plea for you to write a
new sign:
'This Man said;
I am King of the Jews'!"

"What does it MATTER,
man?" (The pain in Pilate's
head now, was throbbing
against his left temple. Just
the SIGHT of these Pharisees
could do that, without much
incitement. He took the
cup of strong wine, which a
servant nervously stood by to offer,
and tossed it to the back
of his parched, raw throat.
The eery echo of his wife's dream,
from the night before, bounced
against the walls of his throbbing
head - and, back again. Nausea
stirred; it danced around his
belly, like a delicately fine
boned girl: gracefully lithe.)
"Get away from me, Pharisee,
before I have the whole LOT
of you put into PRISON!"

"But, SIR! I am here
to entreat you; it is
WRONG! What you
have written is WRONG!
I am here to plea.......!"

(Bile reached the back
of Pilate's throat. One
moment more, and he
would be vomiting,
rather shamefully,
before this hideously
self-important, little man.)
"Get OUT, I say!
Out: NOW!
All this tedious NITPICKING
over some WORDS, on that -
- that Prisoner's SIGN,
is grinding away
Now, be AWAY with you!
ALL of you: what I have
(Pilate pauses to catch
his breath, forcing the
vomit to stay at least
another moment until
he is welcomely, and
gratefully alone, with his
attentive servant.)
I have WRITTEN!"

The Pharisee purses his
thin lips, distainfully, as
if he can feel Pilate's
flipping nausea, as well.
He is about to open his
mouth, once more, when
he catches just a glimpse
of movement from the
Roman soldier stationed
immediately to the right
of the governor. With
the abrupt swiftness of
a man totally consumed
with his own welfare, and
pride, the Pharisee curtly
nods his elaborately covered
head with a very slight bow,
and steps back.

"Yes, sir.
Yes, sir.
Good morning, sir.
Good morning."

(Pilate, with one hand to
touching the growing lump
of vomit in his dancing
belly, brusquely waves
away the little man in
a final gesture of impatience.
Right at this moment, it
is impossible for him to
speak. It is all he can do
to remain upright, as
the ugly, little nome of a man
backs up, taking quick,
ungraceful steps, out of
the room.)

As two soldiers slam the
huge doors shut after the
Pharisee, no one notices
the shadowy breath of
movement in one corner of the
cavernous room. One moment
it was there; the next,
it is gone.
Then the seventh angel
blew his trumpet,
and there were loud voices
in heaven,
saying, "The kingdom of
the world has become
the Kingdom of our Lord
and of His Christ,
He shall reign
for ever and ever.
[Revelation 11:15]

If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW

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