“Ha! Where is your God now?”
Jesus looked to his left side, where his companion always stood. Gone.
His best friend, who was always whispering in his ear the messages of their father, wasn’t standing there where he always did. His companion, gone. His only connection to home, since he had come down on this distant mission. His absence sent another burst of despair throbbing through his heart.
In a flash he remembered their last, pained conversation. “We won’t be able to communicate for a while,” his companion had said.
“How long?” Jesus asked.
The companion shook his head sadly. “Father won’t tell me.” He took a breath. “I must leave now.” He set a the iron goblet on the table, jerking his hand away from it as soon as he had done so, as if it stung to the touch. The companion stared at the goblet in horror and confusion, backing away, then raised his eyes to Jesus’.
“I know,” Jesus said, acknowledging the tacit meaning in his eyes. “All of it.”
His disciples hadn’t known that night that the wine that bound them to his divinity also bound him to their cursed humanity. In their cups that night had been the wine of fellowship with his father, but in his, the wine of wrath.
Now, hanging there, Jesus was drawn back to his misery by jeers from the red-plumed helmets below.
“Where is your God now?”
Jesus knew scorn – he had experienced it ever since this flesh he had donned was young. Instinctively he craned his head to the left. The companion always used to whisper the truth into that ear, “Father says don’t listen to them. You are his son, and he is pleased with you.”
Silence. Another wave of misery crashed over his soul, and he cried out. “My God!” He looked right – perhaps the companion was there. No. He craned his neck to look up, but the heavens were shut tight with iron doors. He was abandoned. “My God! Why have you forsaken me!” His voice broke as he muttered it, and he began to weep.
“If you are God’s son, come down from there!” shouted an old pharisee, and spat at him.
If you are God’s son. Jesus was bewildered – without the companion he didn’t know where, or even who he was. The wine. He could feel it coursing through his veins, whispering, “Depart from me, I never knew you.” Cursed is he who hangs on a tree, the scripture echoed. A voice slithered into his mind, “You are damned. You are lost in darkness.”
Then, for the smallest part of a second, he forgot. He stopped breathing. He forgot who he was, his intimate connection with the father. For an instant God’s rejection of him seemed eternal. The eternity of his rejection fell upon him with infinite weight. And in that moment, he died.
Then, like a distant light, the thought formed in him, “This is what father wanted, because he loves the sons of Adam. For you, father. I die for you. For you, because I love you, so be it.” Then love filled his heart for his father, deep and rich. And as love entered, suddenly he remembered. Love, the lifeblood of his father’s heart, the essence of their connection, warmed him with familiar strength. He knew who he was and what he had come to do.
And then, as the last drops of his own blood dripped down the pole on which he hung, as his human life faded, his soul was resurfacing. His head began to sag as his consciousness faded to black, but his soul was rushing up from the abyss of abandonment toward the light of paradise. He was going home.
So he whispered, “It is finished,” and breathed his last.