Page 196 - Eggs and Ashes pages

Good Friday 195

Then the man in the middle gasped out: ‘Aye … I tell you … today… you’ll be
with me… in the Garden.’
A hellish hour passed and, as it did, Rob’s life passed before him. He could see
himself once more in the cave he had carved for himself, formed under the moun-
tain of hurts which people had heaped on him as he grew up. It was miserable; but
at least he knew what to do and did not expect anybody to help. They’d only let
him down anyway, and make it worse.
‘To hell with the lot of them’ had become his motto. He made sure his cave was
warmed by a fire of burning resentment against them all. But, of course, that fire had
been eating away at the very foundations of his own life and that had just made him
even angrier. It was their fault. Damn them all!
Then it all came back to him: how he used to pounce out on poor passers-by.
He used to get satisfaction out of hurting them. If he was lucky there would be a
few coins; and often he could grab something to flog to buy food and drink.
As the screams, sobs and curses of his victims came back to him, he knew now,
only too well, what he had done … So the man in the middle was right. He had
never really known what he was doing. What a trail of misery he’d left behind him.
How could he face that terrible Judge of judges that the Bible speaks about?
Then the pain ebbed; the world became misty and fluid. There before him was a
corridor leading up into the light. Gratefully he began to move up towards it, feel-
ing so shabby. The mountain of hurts, with his cave inside it, was dissolving in the
light. A gate opened and there he was in the Garden.
Somebody said gently: ‘Why so surprised, pal? I told you, didn’t I?’ Rob gazed
round and knew that the same voice was saying: ‘I’ve got a special place ready for
you in my Father’s home. So, come on. You’re not the only one who is dying to be
loved and understood.’

The Roman centurion

Jesus said, ‘I thirst.’ A jar stood there full of sour wine; so they soaked a sponge, fixed it
on a javelin and held it to his lips.

Gie the poor bastard a drink then!
How can he drink oot o a bottle?
Here, sir, hae a drink on me!
I’ll dook this in my soor wine.
And here ye are … sup it!