Good Friday

The Earthquake

By Preson (aka Tommy Phillips)


I'm in horror... I don't know what to do, where to go, what to believe!

I was asleep in the garden, and I was awakened by the stomping of what sounded like fifty men, with torches and swords. I thought I was still dreaming, you know that feeling when you first wake up in an awkward place, and you're overcome by confusion? I was terrified. I remembered that Jesus was over near the sycamores, so I ran around the north side of garden and grabbed peter and john, they had the same confused look on their faces, I told them to follow me.

When we found Jesus, He was surrounded by men, roman soldiers. We stayed back, out of fear, we couldn't understand their dialogue. Thomas was standing next to Him with his dagger in his hand, and Jesus was touching one of the guards on the side of His head. Suddenly the earth shook, when I turned around, the others were gone and Jesus was being led away, Thomas had ran also, but one man stayed behind. He didn't have a torch, and he seemed distraught. I heard him crying and I realized that it was Judas Iscariot. Did he have anything to do with this? There was so much I didn't know.

So many things happened after the arrest in the garden that I don't even know where to start. There were rumors that He went before Pilate, and that he had been sent other places also. An elderly man told me that the Sanhedrin had brought charges before Him, and that he could be tried for blasphemy.

The next time that I saw Jesus was the most painful moment of my life. There was a crowd along de-larosa street, unlike any crowd I had ever seen. Some were crying, some were screaming, some were angry, and some were laughing. I pushed through to see what was happening.

There was a man, obviously a criminal, carrying his cross up the hill. He was a mess. His eyes were purple and swollen, his back was raw and torn from his punishment, his face was bare.... but then I saw his hands, strong hands, hands that looked like they've know hard labor. A carpenters hands. I recognized them. They were the hands that had I had watched turn a few loaves of bread into food for thousands..., that had put mud on a blind man’s eyes to heal him..., these hands had reached out for Peter when he walked on the water. We had seen these hands do so many amazing things, I sometimes just used to sit and stare at them and thank the father for sending them. Last night I watched these hands wash my very own feet...

I tried to push through the crowd to get to Him, but the guards held me back. I screamed out His name, and he turned and looked at me with pity in His swollen eyes. Why did He pity me? Why was he feeling sorry for me?

I watched as they took those perfect hands and they drove nails through His hands, my heart ached. Not his hands, they were instruments of love, of comfort, of peace. They once flowed with mercy, now they run with blood.

I watched as they raised up His cross, with blood flowing from His feet and His head.

I remembered what it was like when we used to enter the big cities. People would wave palm branches and sing songs about Him. They would cover the ground with leaves so that even His donkey would have comfort in his steps. The sick would crawl up to Him just to touch the tassels of His robe because they remembered what the prophets had said about the messiah have healing power in His tassels of His cloak. Now they are waving fists. Now they are hurling insults. Now He is naked and humiliated.

I can watch no more, I must run.

It is all over.

I passed Joseph from Arimathea while I was running. He asked me where I was going, I told him that I didn't know. He asked for assistance, that he was going to the Governor to ask for the body. Why would I want the body? I wanted Jesus, not His body. I wanted to hold His hands, not wrap them to His chest in a shroud. NO!!!

The Sabbath is coming.

I must hide, surely they will come for us next.

This was a terrible day, never again will I celebrate this day. There is no hope, I see no reason to rejoice. Never again will my Passovers be sweet, for I will remember what was to follow.

I must hide.