April 19, 2019
Disclaimer: This is a creative retelling of the Crucifixion.
The kingdom of heaven was filled with tension and bewilderment one day. Warrior angels were taking arms. The archangels were readying their battalions for deployment. All of them were awaiting the Chief Commander’s order.
It was a day like no other. All the angels were talking amongst themselves about a gruesome event that was about to take place.
Could it be true? Is it really happening?
It was the day of the Crucifixion.
The funeral procession began slowly under the scorching heat of the desert sun.
Hundreds of people flocked together, unaffected by their thirst, sticky sweat, and irritating dust from the dunes. They gathered not to mourn the death of a Rabbi, Doctor, or Savior. They came to put to death an ambitious carpenter, a blasphemer, a dissenter of the accepted religious order.
The man carried a massive cross, His very death. Unbeknownst to the crowd, this will be remembered even for thousands of years later.
Blood and sweat flowed out from His torn flesh. His eyes could barely see; His vision blurred by tears and blood. But He continued marching. Slowly, very slowly, up the hill called Golgotha—that is “skull.” He is the Chief Commander’s Son.
“Aren’t You going to do something?” asked one of the archangels, puzzled, troubled by the Chief Commander’s silence. His name was Michael.
But the Chief Commander was silent. What He was thinking, no one could tell.
At this, Archangel Michael, holding a spear in his right hand, went away and convened the heavenly armies. He sought the company of the other archangels—Barachiel, Uriel, Raphael, Jegudiel—all thousands of them. Michael was not the only one puzzled by the Commander’s silence.
Archangel Gabriel was also trying to understand what was happening. He was holding in his hand a mirror of green jasper, an emblem signifying the wisdom of God. But Gabriel himself was clueless, for the wisdom of God is indeed a hidden mystery.
Being a warrior and a commander, Archangel Michael moved to prepare the heavenly armies for battle. All of them were clad in armor—steady, but not still; mighty, but moved; strong, but heartbroken. One order from the Chief Commander would have been enough to send all of them—millions, if necessary—to the battlefield.
His Son was about to be killed, yet the Commander refused to speak.
The cortege finally reached its destination. Up the hill of Golgotha, the Son’s feet have been burnt by the blistering earth.
Thirsty, weary, and abandoned, He was surrounded by an angry mob—His students, His patients—cheering and jeering, clamoring for His death.
“Just a single order. Just say ‘go’ and we will stop them from killing Your Son. Why won’t You command us now?!” Archangel Michael said in despair.
But the Commander was unmoved. His eyes were near to tears. “Give me a moment alone,” He said, almost whispering. His lips were shaking. Michael, surprised at the intensity he felt, bowed down and left.
Everyone was watching—the angels, cherubims, heavenly creatures, the heavenly hosts. All of them were watching as the people insulted and injured the Son.
Finally, the soldiers tied Him down; His back against the thick wood. He did nothing to retaliate. His blood was spilling against the barren earth.
All of a sudden, a soldier, with a nail in one hand and a hammer in another took his aim. Coldly and mercilessly, the soldier lifted the hammer high above the air . . .
“NO!!!” Archangel Michael shouted. The rest of the angels covered their mouths and gasped. The Chief Commander looked away, sobbing silently. His eyes were drowning in tears.
And strongly, oh so strongly, the soldier hit the hammer against the rusty nail placed over the Son’s hand . . .
The angels covered their eyes and their ears. They couldn’t bear seeing the Son in anguish. With every hit of the hammer everyone was weeping, wailing loudly.
And they lifted the crucified Son high above the hill for everyone to see, like an exhibit.
“Father, why have You forsaken me?” The Son asked, as He lost His strength.
Everybody’s gaze slowly shifted to the Chief Commander.
But the Father wasn’t looking, for He Himself couldn’t bear to see Him that way.
“Why . . . why didn’t you do something . . .” Michael was crying.
The Chief Commander broke His silence.
“I love these people so much that I had to sacrifice My Son for them. I know, I know . . . you don’t understand. This love is too difficult to comprehend. There are things that only love can explain and only love can understand . . . But trust My wisdom, for I know what I am doing. My glory will be displayed. My Son will be glorified.”
A few more moments. After long, agonizing silence, they saw that the Son was losing strength. Their tears continued to flow. And with full theatrics—massive earthquakes, graves cracking open, and temple curtains being torn apart—the Son spoke His last as life left His body.
“It is finished.”
It was the day when the Father did nothing and everything all for love.