An Ordinary Christ

He was quite an ordinary-looking man. No gleaming white Hollywood teeth, no bright, clear blue eyes, no clear complexion. His eyes, I imagined, were the drab color of mud, his stature not too tall, nor his physique something to be admired. He had rough, calloused hands and a slow smile. There was, in fact, not a single thing about his appearance that I might find appealing. He simply was.

I did not understand why the people listened to him. Sure, some of the things he said were interesting, and he often defied the Pharisees, which was exciting to watch, but I found more of what he said frightening, something that caused terror and uncertainty. I did not want to think about such things, so I did not. He talked about things that many did not understand and did things that were inexplicable. There were rumors, terrible, indefinite rumors, whispers about his involvement with demons and the dead. I wanted no part in any of it, since I did not understand. Others followed him blindly, believing he was the one who would rescue them. I scoffed at them in public, but in the dark hours of the night, I could not help but wonder about this strange, ordinary man.

He was finally brought to trial, this man. At first, I thought it served him right. He was a stranger, and he was stirring up trouble. The people were loyal to him, and I almost guessed that he might try to raise them up against the court. How odd, then, when he was accused of both false and misleading crimes that he would remain silent in the face of his accusers. I began to think many thoughts at once. Perhaps he was simply putting on a show for his followers, the majority of them in the crowd waiting below. I found this likely. Perhaps he was waiting for the opportune moment to whip out his dagger and plunge it into the heart of the political figure before him. I hoped not; that would cause more trouble than the matter deserved. It would also convict him on the spot for execution.

The thought slipped into my mind that perhaps, just perhaps, there was something far greater at hand. I shook it out quickly. The man in charge, unable to truly find fault in this man, turned him over to the crowd. Surely, he was safe now, I thought. How shocked I was to find the crowd around me demanding the release of a terrible criminal in place of the ordinary man who committed no crimes and stood with his head bowed, hiding his mud-brown eyes. This crowd, who just days before had been begging for another word from him, for a chance to idolize the ground he walked upon, was betraying him without a second thought. When asked for his sentence, I was appalled when I heard the crowd’s response. Crucify him, they said. Give this man the punishment deserved only by the scum of the earth, by the men so despicable that they no longer reserve the right to live, but rather to die in suffering in order to repay for the amount of suffering they have caused. Give this man crucifixion, give him pain, suffering, and death in order to repay for...repay for what? What suffering has he caused? What hearts has he broken? What losses has he caused? I heard him say once, “Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone,” and yet the only one who has not cast a stone is the one worthy of the task. I fled from the coarse, ugly, deceived faces around me. I could bear it no longer.

I could not escape. I heard the crack of the whip, the sound of the soldiers’ laughter and jeering. How unfair! I thought. How cruel! No one stood up for him, even his closest friends denied him. Did he have no one? He was homely, unrefined, unattractive...and yet I found myself unwittingly drawn to him, as a stone is drawn to the earth when dropped.

The things I had heard him say began to make sense; bits of the puzzle began to fall into place. This man of the humblest beginnings, the humblest appearance, the humblest character was being punished for a nonexistent crime. He was being punished merely for making a claim that was implausible, but not impossible. Did that make him deserving of a punishment designed for the most depraved of sinful man?

I heard his agony; I saw the mocking crown that was pressed cruelly into the skin of his forehead, his face which was swollen and bleeding. He said not a word against his oppressors, and he did not try to fight. It may have been that he was far too weak from loss of blood...but I don’t believe so. He could not fight because he was meant to fulfill.

They led him, stumbling and nearly blind from the pain, up a hill. To walk in such a wounded state must have been pure agony, pain beyond anything I can imagine in my small experience in the area. I shudder when I try, and am glad that I am unable to comprehend such pain. Up that hill they marched him, a local man carrying the instrument of death behind him. I cried out in fear of that terrible cross; I averted my eyes from it, for I feared the pain it brought.

Again, I wondered how easily betrayed this man was. He had done no wrong, had committed no sin. What was his place among murderers? The soldiers continued to bait him, tried to provoke him to action. The people joined in, readily cursing and laughing derisively at this man, afraid to stand up to such a large crowd. I admit that I, myself, did not dare say a word in protest, nor did I beat my breast in grief or join in the mocking. I merely watched in horror as they cruelly drove a nail into his wrists, securing him to that dreaded cross. I watched the waves of intense pain cross his face every time the hammer even jostled the nail or the cross. Tears, sweat, and blood covered him, flowing profusely. Who would stop this? I wondered. Did any man wish to call down God on this matter?

I stood there until the moment he died, the crowd screaming, yet oddly silent. I was there when the sky turned black, when the sound of the Temple veil being torn in two rent the silence. Nothing, however, tore away my focus from the dead body of the plain, ordinary man. His mud-colored eyes clouded over; his uneven complexion turned oddly pale from loss of blood. His average-height body of unimpressive physique went limp, hanging from the huge metal pins.

And somehow, this ordinary-looking man without gleaming white Hollywood teeth, without bright, clear blue eyes, and without a clear complexion, was the single most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my entire life.