Malchus: An Eye Witness Account (4/18/11)

Shalom,

 

    Please begin by reading John 19:17-37.

 

    Hello, my name is Malchus.  I was the personal servant of the High Priest Caiphas during the capture and trial of Jesus the Nazarene.  If you're familiar with the Gospel account, you've heard my name before.

    Since Jesus healed my ear in the Garden of Gethsemane, I felt the need to follow him throughout that long, terrible night and day.  I will take you along with me as I recount what I saw when our Savior laid down his life for us all.

 

    I was in the mob sent to Gethsemane by the Jewish leaders looking for the counterfeit Messiah known as Jesus of Nazareth.  The High Priest sent me along with them to be able to give him an account of all that happened.

    The first thing I remember that night is what happened when we approached the followers of Jesus.  All of sudden one of them stepped forward to confront us.  He asked, "Who is it you want?"  The leader of the Temple Guard spoke up and answered, "Jesus of Nazareth."

    This is when things really began to happen.  Jesus said, "I am he."  When he did there was such power and authority in his voice that it caused all of us to stumble back and fall to the ground.

    Then Judas identified Jesus for us in the prearranged manner, and the soldiers stepped forward to take him into custody.  It was then that one of his followers jumped out with his short sword.  I dodged a direct blow, but felt the searing pain of the blade severing my ear.

    The next thing I knew Jesus was holding my head and I felt an incredible warmth in place of the pain.  I don't know how he healed me, but I determined to follow his every move from that point on.

 

    First, we went to the house of Annas, father-in-law of Caiaphas, the High Priest.  He had requested a personal audience with the man who had caused such a stir among the Jewish leaders.  The meeting was very uneventful, since Jesus never spoke a word.  Annas asked question after question, getting redder in the face as he went on.  His lack of composure was in direct contrast to the calm quiet of the Nazarene.

    Then we went to the High Priest's home to present Jesus to the Sanhedrin.  Even though it was strictly against Hebrew Law, they gathered in the middle of the night.  I have learned much serving as the High Priest's servant, his personal assistant.  The Mishnah required all proceedings and verdicts to be given only during daylight hours.  This was definitely overlooked this fateful day.  Also the first day of Passover was to be a day of rest.  The Sanhedrin was forbidden to meet during a religious festival, but here they gathered to look over Jesus like a gang of vultures.

    In spite of the outright breaking of the law that many of them found to be so precious, they quickly tried and convicted Jesus of blasphemy.  Even though they couldn't get the proper testimony from the witnesses they called, he was condemned to death, another travesty of the law.  All time restrictions and procedures were ignored due to the High Priest's well-crafted plan and the fear of the Sanhedrin that they might lose their influence and control over the people to this gentle man.

    After this mockery of a trial, the Temple Guard took Jesus outside and began to beat him.  I was sickened at the joy these lesser men took in trampling one they had feared just a short time ago.  When they tired of beating Jesus, they placed him in a small room above the courtyard to pass the final hours until dawn awaiting his sentence of death.

 

    When Jesus was brought before Pilate the travesty of justice continued.  First, Pilate tried to avoid dealing with Jesus by sending him to Herod.  But when Jesus remained silent before Herod's questions and requests, he was beaten again.  After Herod mocked him, he sent him back to Pilate.

    Pilate did all he could to set Jesus free, partly out of fear due to his wife's dream.  But also because he found Jesus to be such a noble man in the face of the Sanhedrin's anger and the obvious fact that they were railroading this man.

    As he presented Jesus to the crowd, some of Caiaphas' men circulated near the back of the crowd.  They shouted as previously instructed, "Take this man away!  Crucify him!"

    Within seconds, a few drunks also took up the cry, looking to generate some excitement.  Their hoarse voices prompted others in the crowd to join in.  The gathering began to turn into an ugly mob and the shouts soon became a unified chant.  "Crucify him!  Crucify him!"

    To try and appease the crowd, Pilate said he would have Jesus scourged.  The crowd finally quieted down as Pilate had Jesus escorted to an inner courtyard where the whipping pillar is located.  The High Priest motioned for me to follow.  I hesitated.  He gave me such a vicious look I knew my own life would be in danger if I didn't obey, so I went in.

    At the whipping pillar, the Roman soldiers gathered around Jesus.  One soldier already had a purple robe.  Another one had gathered thorn branches and twisted them into a crown to force upon the head of Jesus.  The vulgar talk among the soldiers made it clear that they found it humorous that this lone, naked figure claimed to be a king.  They were venting their hatred of the Jews on this defenseless man.

    Several soldiers forced Jesus to bend over the waist-high pillar.  This place had known many beatings and scourgings.  It had run-offs gouged into the ground around it to drain the blood away.  Flies collected on the small pools of red that remained from the earlier whippings of two convicted thieves.  A large man stood ready on each side of the pillar, each holding a whip of leather strands woven around sharp bits of metal, bone, and pottery.  They waited for a signal from the governor to their centurion.

    After he nodded, the soldiers kicked Jesus' legs apart to expose all parts of his body equally to the vicious whips.  With a grunt of effort, one of the men swung his whip down, cracking the nine thongs of leather across the back of Jesus.  As he pulled his whip away, his companion aimed lower and lashed savagely from the other side.  The sharp objects embedded in the whips raked Jesus as the whip curled around the inside of his thighs.  Incredibly, Jesus never cried out.

    After this cruelty, Pilate brought Jesus back before the crowd and got the same result as the first time.  More shouts of "Crucify him!"  Pilate even tried to bribe the crowd by offering them the murderous Barabbas in place of Jesus, but that failed, too.

    After Pilate washed his hands, Jesus was taken away to Golgotha.  Golgotha, the hill of the skull, was just north of the city.  It wasn't named, as many think, for the skulls of the dead abandoned around the excavation sites.  Jewish Law forbids the exposure of human bones.  Instead, as anyone can see, the hill of the skull is just that: a high, rounded and rocky plateau which looks like the hollow-eyed skull of a man.  The work done by wind and rain left a dull gray image.  Two shallow caves, side by side, and a lower, larger cave centered below; form the eyes and gaping mouth.  At certain times of the day, when the sun's light casts black shadows across these depressions, it becomes such a vision of a gaunt face that any wind moaning across that barren place reminds you of the cries and groans and curses of all the men who have died tortured deaths on that hill.

 

    Crucifixion is a simple process.  After the upright beam is positioned, the cross beam is set on the ground.  The victim is forced onto his back and laid across it with his arms extended.  A long, sharp nail is placed at the groove of the wrist, and driven through the flesh into the wood.

    Once the victim is secured to the cross piece, soldiers use ropes to draw him upward, and they bind the cross piece to the upright with nails and ropes.  At this point, the soldiers are far from finished.  If the victim were left hanging in this manner, death would arrive too quickly from suffocation as the body's unsupported weight pulled against the lungs.

    So the soldiers place one foot on top of the other before driving another spike through flesh.  Only then would the soldiers step aside, their work finished, for now.

    The pain is so great that a man is sometimes unable to scream.  His brain floods with agony from the different parts of his body crying out in pain.  Flies arrive to settle on his eyes and nose and ears to torment him even more in their pursuit of blood.  Yet the real pain hasn't begun yet.

    The man will usually choose the lesser agony of hanging from the nails in his wrists, simply because it's so unbearable to place any weight on the spike in his feet.  His lungs will strain for the sweetness of air until his throat rattles.

    A man's will to live is an unreasoning desperation.  It can even ignore his wish to die to end the pain and suffering.  So eventually he will fight for air by pushing up with cramping thigh muscles, painfully supporting his weight on the iron spikes in his feet.

    When he can no longer endure this pain, he will sag again, until his lungs suck for air and he pushes his weight on his ankles again.  He will alternate between these two agonies, knowing it may take hours and sometimes even days before exhaustion and dehydration finally send him into black oblivion.

    This death is what awaited Jesus.  There's a merciful Jewish tradition that allows women to offer the condemned a cup of strong wine mixed with myrrh to numb their pain.  When it was offered to Jesus, he refused it.

    He said nothing throughout all the soldiers did to him.  He said nothing when they drove him to his knees.  He said nothing as they pushed him onto his back to nail him to the cross.  He said nothing as the point of the first spike was pressed against the flesh of his wrist

    As for me, I was a coward.  I turned my head.  The hammer came down with a peculiar clang and thud of iron.  The iron entering the wood made another disturbing sound.  In contrast to these two forces, iron's impact against the flesh is soundless, if not for the screams of the victim.

    Jesus, however, met the beginning of his death with full submission, as silent as a slaughtered Passover lamb before the altar.  Only a low grunt escaped his lips.

    When I found the courage to look again, blood streamed dark from his pierced body and soaked into the hard, cold ground.

 

    It was then I knew for certain that he was who he said he was, the Messiah.  I knew I would never be the same again, for I had committed myself to a new master.

 

    Blessings & Peace,    Mike