Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Brown (11/26/09)
- TITLE: Stains of Shame
By Terry Atchison
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“Crucify him! Crucify the king of the Jews! Why don't you save yourself right now?” Insults were coming from all sides as they led Jesus to the whipping post. His face was bloody from the punches that he had received from the soldiers and from having his beard pulled out. Blood was running down from his head, where the crown of thorns had been forced down into his scalp. Soldiers had been hitting him on the head with a staff, making the crown of thorns dig in even deeper.
He was tied to the pole with His hands higher than His head. She remembered looking at Him, in the eyes. That moment lasted only a split second, but she understood that she saw love, nothing else, in his regard. He was not fighting His captors and seemed resigned to His fate.
A soldier appeared, carrying a flagrum with several long thongs. Each thong had lead balls and mutton bones attached to their extremities. She knew that the Hebrew law admitted only forty lashes, but this was a Roman soldier about to perform the punishment. They had no limit to how many lashes they could inflict on their prisoners. Usually, they were beaten until they had just enough strength to carry their cross to the place of execution. Tears of apprehension were flowing from her eyes as she watched the scene unfold.
The crowd cheered and laughed each time the lash had made contact on His skin. The soldier was methodical in his work, putting all his force into each stroke, then waiting for the reaction of the crowd. She remembered the groans that came from His mouth as his skin was bruised and cut. It broke her heart to be witness to His torment and suffering. His back, thighs, and legs became red with blood and cuts opened deeper as His life oozed out. His body became limp as the beating continued.
Yes. She remembered all the moments that her Master was treated like a common criminal and beaten almost to death. Helpless to take any action to defend Him, she promised that He would never be forgotten. Today was her time to honor Him. For her it was important to try to wash away some of the shame of that moment.
The old lady knelt on the cobblestones under the whipping post and cried. Her old knees were racked with pain, but she promised herself to do this thing in His memory. She dipped her rags into the water and scrubbed and scrubbed the stones, covered by now big brown stains, which were made up of Jesus' blood.
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