Fiction

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Zia's Bride
Written by: Rev. Terry D. Butters
Unpublished Copyright 2007


I woke up with a smile on my face. I had been dreaming of my neighborhood in Bethany . My friends, Saul, my best friend, his brothers, Isaac and Tebah, and their sister Abiah were all in my dream. Abiah and I one day would be married just as our fathers had agreed when we were children. I would work with my father in the vineyards and we would have many sons. I lay quietly with my eyes closed, daydreaming now of my long awaited union with the beautiful Abiah.

I had been born the night the Roman soldiers swept through Bethany looking for Zealots. Seventeen men, some of them my father’s brothers, had been dragged from their beds and had been crucified at the edge of town. There were few trees left in the area because of the number of crucifixions that had occurred in the past year. Herod, the king, had convinced our governor Quirinius that Roman security could only be achieved when the rabble-rousers in towns like Bethany were eliminated.

As my mother screamed at the pain of my birthing, her sister-in-law was screaming in terror. The uncle I would never know had been nailed to the outer support beam of the inn down the street. He had been beaten with the flat side of a Roman sword and a rawhide whip until there was little left to kill. On such a night as this I was born. I was given the name Zia, which means “terror.”

That was in the past and soon I would have Abiah at my side and our sons would be born in peace. I opened my eyes and the daydream ended. Realization struck me that I would never see Abiah again. I was not in Bethany . I was in the prison under the Antonia in Jerusalem , and today was the day I would follow my uncle to a Roman cross.

The original reason for the meaning of my name had been lost over the years. I did not go into the vineyards to work with my father; rather, I left Bethany behind, along with the dreams and plans of childhood. With my boyhood friend Tebah, we began to reap another harvest, the blood of Roman soldiers and Jewish traitors. Robbing caravans laden with supplies for the Roman garrison in Jerusalem became my bridal vow and the Zealot cause became my bride. We had learned that with Passover coming in just a few weeks, Pilate, the Roman governor, had ordered all leaves canceled for the army and that a caravan with extra supplies was headed into the city. This caravan would be an excellent target. Not only would we re-supply ourselves, we also would deprive the soldiers of supplies at a time when Jerusalem would be teeming with pilgrims. Any attempt by the Romans to purchase food from the local merchants would be met with great resistance. We knew that Romans taking food that had been consecrated for Passover meals would fan the fires of rebellion into a raging flame. No one, especially Caiaphas and his band of weak-kneed religious sell-outs, could stop the people as they would rise into revolt, led, of course, by my band of Zealots.

The caravan was coming from the Roman garrison at Jericho . This would pose no problem to us as we quietly lay in wait in the rocks along the Jerusalem-Jericho road. Tebah and I had taken the forward positions and as the caravan passed by, the rest of our band would attack from the rear. Then we, along with the men with us, would cut off flight to the west. No amount of planning could have foreseen the incredible turn of events. As the caravan animals and drivers milled around in the rock-walled canyon we had trapped them in, a large patrol of Roman soldiers, heading for a pre-holiday leave in Jericho , marched right into our backs. We were trapped! The camels, horses, and donkeys blocked our escape back toward Jericho . Our zealot brothers could do nothing but watch as we were overrun and taken prisoner.

The trial took only a short time and Tebah and I were sentenced to die on a cross on the eve of Passover. As I lay in our cell, the dream of what could have been disappeared as the morning light filtered through the hole through which we had been dropped. The smell and stench of unwashed bodies and the filth of body waste washed over me. The sweet dream of a quiet life with the beautiful Abiah was not to be. Soon I would take another bride to myself. A wooden bride would on my arms and the marriage canopy would be the burning Judean sun. The guests to my wedding would be cruel soldiers and jeering sadists who lived for the excitement of watching someone die a horrible death.

I turned to Tebah and asked him if he were awake. He answered, “Who in the world can sleep?” He then called down from the Most High the vile curses that made even my hair stand on end. I wondered how we could have gone from the laughing playful children of our neighborhood in Bethany to the hate filled murderers that we had become. “Tebah,” I said. “It’s too late to curse others! We ourselves have been cursed and even the Most High, blessed be His name, has turned his back on us!”

As I spoke, I heard a cry of pain coming from the room above the cell we had been thrown into. Moving off to the side I saw the brawny arm of a soldier as it swept a whip through the air. I heard the sound of leather thongs as they snapped across flesh. The delighted cries of onlookers filled the room as they counted the strokes of the whip. The cries of the prisoner grew weaker as the whipping continued. Finally, someone cried, “Stop, any more and we won’t have anything left for the cross!” It wasn’t long before Tebah and I were lifted out through the hole and there on the floor lay someone I had never seen before. I tried to get a good look at him, but the face was hidden behind a mask of blood, dirt, and spittle. Anyway, there was not time, for I was quickly forced to my knees and a wooden beam was tied to my outstretched arms. Along with Tebah and the stranger, we were driven out into the street. We were a sorry procession as we wound our way through the streets of Jerusalem .

A soldier verbally announced our crimes as did signs carried by others. The sign in front of Tebah and me said, “Robbers”. Every­one who saw it knew that we were far more than thieves. The cross was reserved for men like ourselves who were enemies of Rome . Looking back at the sign over the stranger’s head, I read, “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”. I wondered if he be­longed to the zealot band based in Nazareth . I supposed that he had been caught in the Galilee and because he had declared himself king, he had been sentenced to die in Jerusalem , the ancient capital of the Jewish kings, as a reminder of Roman rule.

As we struggled through the crowed streets, we started up a fairly steep hill. Although Tebah and I were managing to keep up the pace set by the soldiers, the stranger behind us kept falling further behind. The squad guarding him pushed him and even for a while dragged him, but he could not keep up. Finally the Centurion asked what the delay was. We were stopped and I looked back in time to see the stranger prostrate on the ground. The beam he carried was covered with the blood that streamed freely from his shredded back. The Centurion reached into the crowd that hovered over the man and pulled someone out. We watched as the beam was taken off the back of the stranger and laid across the shoulders of another man. Then the soldiers dragged the man on the ground to his feet and with one soldier on each arm, they pulled him forward until once again our procession was together. Our pathetic procession proceeded to the place called “The Skull”.

By this time, I was myself nearing a point of exhaustion. The Centurion cried, “Halt!” I was thrown backwards to the ground. The beam strapped to my arms crashed against the ground and my shoulders slammed into the wood as my head bounced off rocks scattered on the ground. In spite of the stunning blow to my head, I could feel fingers as they forced open my fingers that had been clenched from the pain. I watched as they bent the back of my hand back onto the wood, exposing the inside of my wrist. One of the soldiers felt around on my wrist until he located the spot he wanted. I watched as he lined up a spike and nodded to another soldier hovering over me. A hammer descended and pain shuddered up through my arm as the spike pierced my wrist, tearing through nerves and scraping the bone. I screamed out in pain, “Stop it!”

The soldiers only laughed and grabbed my other hand. The soldier who held the spikes then tightened the ropes that held the beam to my shoulders, and with a vicious grin asked me, “Are you comfortable?”

I spit in his face and called down a curse on him, his parents, and any children that he might have. With a devilish burning in his eyes, he grabbed my arms and jerked down. Pain again swept up into my shoulders and I screamed in anguish. He turned to the one with the hammer and said, “He won’t fall off! Let’s hang him up!”

The soldier called another man over and the three of them lifted me into the air. My eyes desperately searched for a friendly face in the crowd. My hope was that my friends had heard of our fate and had gathered to overpower the guards and help us to escape. I saw no face smiling at me except for the stranger already hanging on his cross next to me. I shouted, “What’s so funny?” He simply shook his head and groaned in pain as a soldier tightened the ropes binding his elbows to the cross.

Tebah called over to me. “Zia, guess what! The king is on his throne between us, so that makes us his honor guard or maybe even his sons. Hey, Prince Zia, tell our father the king that we’d like crowns of our own. But, not so crude, and certainly not so thorny.”

I said, “Tebah, you are right! We do deserve a special favor from our father the king. Your Highness, King Jesus, if you would please stop bleeding for a moment, we’d like your help. Can you arrange for a coach to be brought to transport Tebah and me to the royal harem? You are not going to need all those wives.” Just then the ropes binding my arms were tightened. A pain like I had never known shot from my arm right up into my neck and I passed out. The last thing I saw was the stranger looking at me with eyes that said. “I’m sorry you’re hurting.” I passed out thinking, “Who is this man that he feels sorry for me?”

Sometime later, I came to, and heard Tebah as he continued to ridicule the stranger on the middle cross. “Hey King,” he cried in pain, “If you are the Christ, save yourself and us with you. But no, you are not the Christ and you know it. You are just a madman condemned to die for your foolishness. Hey Fool, why don’t you tell us a good story? Make Zia and me laugh.”

He looked over and saw that I was awake and said, “Welcome back to Hell, Zia. I hope you enjoyed your beauty sleep. I was just asking King Jesus to get us off our thrones. But all he does is just look at me with a silly smile. Zia, the fool can’t do any­thing but hang here and die with us.”

I started to say some cutting remark as well. But, again I saw in his eyes the look that said. “I’m sorry for you.” As Tebah started in again on the stranger, I cried out, “Tebah, I think we’re wrong doing this. Don’t you know that this man named Jesus is the King of the Jews?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing myself say. Although I had once believed in the Messiah, that belief had long since been forgotten. It happened after I murdered my first Roman soldier and had determined that I alone could work out my own destiny. But here I was, saying that I believed in a Messiah that was slowly bleeding to death on a Roman cross.

My words continued and the longer I spoke, the more I believed in what I was saying.“Tebah, we’re here because of the death and destruction we’ve caused. Jesus is here for reasons that I don’t understand, but I know he is not guilty of any crime. Stop insulting him, Tebah! Your ridicule won’t take our pain away, so just stop; you’ve said enough!”

Tebah cursed and turned his head away from us and called me a fool as well. I didn’t know exactly what to say to the stranger who was becoming a friend, even though we would never touch one another. I said to him, “Jesus, when you get to your kingdom, wherever it is, will you please remember me as one who believed who you are?”

Jesus smiled at me and said. “Zia, today you will be with me in the very presence of God.”

As he spoke, a sweet sense of peace came over me. It was as if I were lying in one of the hot mineral baths outside of Tiberius and all of the cares and worries of my life were simply washing away. I wanted to say something, but, was so overwhelmed by what was happening to me that all I could do was look at him and smile through the tears. The little world where just the two of us lived ended quickly as I heard him speak to someone else. He was talking to a man who stood at his feet. The man obviously was a friend, for he had kept asking the soldiers to go easy on Jesus. I had heard him and seen him throughout my ordeal, but I was too concerned with my own pain to know that anyone else was suffering at Golgotha .

Jesus asked the man to take care of his mother. I couldn’t believe it! The mother of Jesus was at his feet as well. My mother would never have come to watch me die. My mother had not even spoken to me since I left Bethany to become a Zealot. She had to know I was here today. I had seen some of my cousins in the crowd as I was sentenced to death. I watched silently as the man Jesus spoke to put his arm around Jesus’ mother and held her as she wept on his shoulder. Looking back over at Jesus, he, too, was weeping, and soon I was crying. I began to realize how my life of murder had brought grief into the homes of so many people. I wanted to ask Jesus how I could ever get into the presence of God after breaking his commandments. However, before I could speak I noticed that the light of day began to disappear. I watched as the sun seemed to melt into the clouds and instead of an overcast light, it looked more like evening. Everyone began asking each other what was happening. I turned to Jesus and he seemed to be gazing off into the blackened sky and was mumbling something that sounded like a prayer.

So much had been happening that I had forgotten somehow that I was on a cross dying. With the coming of the afternoon darkness the pain of the nails and the beating I had endured returned in waves of anguish that rippled across my arms and down through the muscles in my chest. For the next three hours, I suffered all of the indignities of the cross. Not only did I feel the pain, I was hungry beyond belief. Since I was to die, the Romans saw no need to feed me, and for several days I had nothing to eat. Along with the pain and hunger, I suffered the humiliation of hanging naked for all to see. The ridicule of the soldiers continued.

I really thought that I could bear no more and was almost ready to curse the unfeeling soldiers when I heard Jesus stirring from what had seemed like a trance. He cried, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

I wondered what he meant. Others, too, had heard him and thought that he was for some reason calling to Elijah. Jesus looked down at the soldiers and asked for a drink. For several hours they had been offering the sour wine that was available to help take away the pain, but he had not seemed interested. I also asked for a drink, as did Tebah, who had been hanging quietly in the darkness.

As we were given the sour wine, the sky began to lighten and Jesus looked once again into my eyes. This time I did not see sorrow or pain. I saw instead exultation, and I knew instinctively that something was about to happen. Jesus looked out across the crowd and with a strength of voice that I had long since lost, he said, “It is finished!” Then he died.

I watched him for a few minutes hoping that he would speak again to me. But he was dead. I had been feeling a numbness spreading up my arm and an incredible heaviness was pressing on my chest but I kept on dragging one labored breath after another in and out of my lungs. I wondered how I had ever endured the pain and realized that I had been able to endure because of the example of Jesus who now hung limply on his cross. It wasn’t long and the quiet that had settled over the scene was broken by a group of priests who pushed their way through the remaining onlookers and demanded that the crucifixion be completed. They had spoken to Pilate, telling him that Sabbath was just hours away, and bodies hanging on a cross would desecrate the holy day. Pilate had sent them with his order that we should be killed and taken down. The soldiers knew exactly what to do. I had heard that some who were crucified lasted for days on a cross, and soldiers had learned that if they broke the legs of the condemned they would die quickly. You see, we were nailed to the cross, but there was a tiny platform that our feet rested on. The platform enabled us to support our weight. When the legs were broken, the body weight could no longer be supported and the downward pull on the chest resulted in suffocation. Tebah’s legs were smashed and he screamed himself into unconsciousness. As they approached me, I prayed that I would have the courage to endure silently the pain and anguish that would follow. The soldier who had nailed me to the cross felt around my leg just above the ankle and nodded to his partner who handed him a large hammer that I knew was specially made for this gruesome task. In a matter of moments it was over. I almost passed out from the pain.

As I blinked back the tears brought on by the terrible pain, I saw them move to Jesus. They prodded him several times and, finally one said, “He’s dead already. So that’s what he meant when he said, “It’s finished!’”

The other soldier knowing that the priests were watching and knowing that Jesus was here because of them, drove his spear through his side and up into his chest cavity. He turned and said, “Well, Priests, he won’t be waking up from this nap!” The priests nodded and walked down the hill.

My breathing continued to get harder as I struggled to draw air into my lungs. I realized that I was drawing my final breaths and wanted to end my life as Jesus had. “It is finished” were not his final words, and I purposed that I would end my life as he had. I drew what I knew would be my final breath and looking toward heaven, I whispered. “Father, into your hands commend my...”

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