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A Postmodern Passion Play: Aniconic Execution

“mundane”

It’s been a long day. Another crowd, another execution...what can it possibly matter? How can this fanatic be any different to all the others? They all shout slogans; they all march in the streets. They all cheat; they all lie. And at the end of the day, they all die – like this one.

Don’t look at me like I’m a murderer. It’s just a job, like any other. Bread on the table; clothes on my back. Wouldn’t you do the same? Innocent or guilty; it’s not for me to decide. I do my job – that’s all there is to it.

You want me to believe this is different? I’ve seen too many to believe the difference.

“desolate”

I’ve watched over him since his cradle; cared for him; poured love into every task I’ve done for him. When he left I made him a beautiful cloak, praying with every stitch that it would keep him warm; keep him safe when I was far away. Now the soldiers throw dice for my handiwork and he labours for the life that is slipping away from him.

How can it really be over? He was so young; we were so full of hope. Salvation had never felt closer. And now blood and water flow from a wound I can hardly bear to look at; an ugly gash in his flesh. Someone leads me away; covers my helpless eyes.

Where can I go? How can I be without him?

“confusing”

I would have fought for him; spent my last breath for him. I would have died on their swords to save him; but he threw it all away. Angels would have marched at his side; driven away the darkness and brought a rule of justice. Palms beneath his feet; my cloak laying a path through the crowd – yet he lets this happen.

I was so sure he was the saviour. Now, seeing him naked and helpless – how can I be so sure? He raised the dead; healed the sick: how can he let himself die? Was it a lie all along?

My disappointment sickens me to the stomach. I turn and disappear into the crowd. Will I ever be able to find what I have lost?

“ridiculous”

They all think they’ve got the key to salvation. They all think they’re going to make it all alright. This one was no exception. Preaching; teaching with words of “great wisdom”. Throwing about cheap tricks – miracles, they call them; but he can’t even save himself. Where are his miracles now?

He could have been one of us, you know. He had the mind for it; the temperament for it. It could all have gone his way. But he chose the wrong side. He chose the beggars, sinners and hotheads. Well, we can’t help that. His choice destines him for obscurity; a criminal’s grave. Fool.

Messiah you say? I know what the Messiah would be – certainly not like him.

“intriguing”

I only passed by chance. I was going somewhere quite different – but I find that my steps have been diverted. I circle the scene; unable to tear myself away. His words; the words of a dying man, seem incongruous. His actions, bound and agonised as he is, are the gestures of a king, not a criminal.

I turn to leave. The gory scene is hardly an edifying addition to my life. But I cannot wipe away the memory of an upturned face and a few words cried to an open sky.

Eloi eloi lama sabachthani?

“irrelevant”

Shouts and cries intrude on my ordered life; interrupt my busy schedule. A criminal, I suppose; or a rebel. What does it matter to me? I stay far away from politics and religion – that kind of conflict just isn’t my thing.

Why should it be? It has nothing to do with me. I have my own troubles; he has his. If he wants to go around offending people then that’s his affair. Why should I get involved? It’ll only bring heartbreak.

You say I might be missing something? My life is perfectly satisfying, thank you. I’m more or less happy. More or less content, most of the time.

Got further questions you need answered? Email Martin or Lesley your question.