Good Friday

There I stood at Golgotha.

It was warm, windy and dry. Dust kicked up and blew against my face. A small crowd of men--soldiers--talked loudly nearby. Protruding from their midst was a wooden cross laid on the ground. A man was lying on it, but I could only see his legs. One soldier called to another and a shabbily dressed prisoner was brought to the cross and given a heavy mallet. The upper arm of the man on the cross had been tied to the crossbeam. A soldier forced the forearm flat against the wood and and pinned the hand down with the heel of his sandal boot. The muscles tensed in the bound man's arm and the prisoner began palpating the wrist, determining the easiest path through. He then put the tip of the spike to a groove in the wrist and gave several swift blows with the mallet, securing the arm to the wood. As the final blow faded, I heard a voice clearly...

"That's how much I love you."