Face of a Friend

Originally written on Good Friday, March 25, 2016.


    I ran wildly through the city streets, searching the faces of passersby, asking each person: "Where is Jesus?"

 

    Where could He be? He must've come to Jerusalem for the Passover. I'd heard so many things... I had to know the Truth. We'd been friends as children, in Nazareth. We'd played together, as David and Jonathan, battling the Philistines; sometimes as Abraham, saving Lot from wicked kings. Jesus played David most often. He did it quite well.

 

 

    My way was barred by immense crowds. What was going on? Someone said there was a man to be crucified ahead, and they wanted to see. I didn't want to see another man crucified, perhaps falsely accused. But the crowds closed in, and I could but follow.

 

    My thoughts turned to Jesus. I remembered the stories His parents told: the tale of His birth we asked for repeatedly. We told stories too, but Jesus told the best ones. Very good with words, was Jesus. Once we came to Jerusalem for Passover. When we left, He was missing, so His parents went back to find Him. Days later, they found Him, and what do you think He was doing? Talking, with priests and elders, who listened to His words! Jesus studied the Scriptures often. He spoke strangely about them, saying they might soon be fulfilled. I never understood that.

 

 

    A child was running beside me, trying to get to the front of the crowd. He stumbled and fell. I stooped to help him. He was crying, because he couldn't find his Friend. He thought they were going to kill Him. I told him it would be alright, and he followed me.

 

    Somehow, he reminded me of my Friend. Jesus wouldn't stand for any wrongdoing, among us or others. He might only say a word, and the sin would be driven away. When any of us were hurt or ill, His healing presence raised our spirits the moment we saw Him. He was the kindest person I'd ever known.

 

 

    We were now out of Jerusalem, near the hill. In front of us, two men spoke.

 

    "Who they crucifying now?"

 

    "That Nazarene everyone's talking about!"

 

    "Hm. Heard He's a blasphemer."

 

    "Whoever told you that knows nothing. He's-"

 

    "Well, they're accusing Him of blasphemy. Treason too. And false or not, you're going to see Jesus of Nazareth dead before nightfall."

 

    "What?!" I looked up at the hill. Three crosses stood there, faintly outlined against the darkening sky. I ran towards the hill, the boy close behind. How could this be? I had heard about things He'd done. He healed the sick and lame. Drove out demons with a word. Brought sinners to God. He had raised the very dead, and they killed Him for that?

 

    I stumbled, regained my footing quick as possible and ran to find my Friend. What had He done? He'd told stories to the people, and taught them righteous ways. He said nothing against Scripture! He that knew and loved it so well, how could He blaspheme God? Who believed so strongly in the Promise... of the Messiah...

 

 

    Now at the front of the crowd, I looked up at the cross on which my Friend hung. Soldiers barred my way. I could get no nearer. Tears filled my eyes as I looked on Jesus. The boy who had followed me was weeping for his Friend and mine. The sky, like that day's deeds, was dark.

 

    I finally understood my Friend's words about the prophecies. Why He had done things He did. Why He was born at all. He spoke of the prophecies as if they were soon to be fulfilled because He had come to do it! He was the Messiah, promised to our people. Promised to David, to Abraham. Perhaps Jesus had known that before anything else. What was it He said? Did you not know I must be in my Father's House? 

 

    All was clear to me. He has come; a light to the Gentiles, the glory of His people. To take all sins--my sins--upon Himself. Yet, if He was dead... but wasn't it the same with Abraham? His son was to die, but he didn't give up hope. As the stars of the heavens shall his children be. Now I know God meant all people who believe in the Messiah. In Jesus.

 

 

    "He was the Son of God," the boy said sadly. "Now He's dead."

 

    "Yes, but don't lose hope. He's also the Son of Promise, and God's promises always come true. Not even Death can stop that. I have faith we'll see Him alive again, soon."

 

    Time stood still, as did we, standing there, looking into the face of a Friend. The search is ended. Here is Jesus. Here is life.