The Word of Janus

He was still alive, at least for now.

But under the hot, unforgiving sun, with the soldiers gathered around and expecting his death, how long could he last?

This was a cruelty that knew no bounds. The pain was becoming unbearable. He felt it throughout his body, but it was agonizing in his wrists, arms, legs, and ankles. His breath was coming in short gasps, meaning his lungs were beginning to give out. That was always the way with this kind of death. If you didn’t die from loss of blood or a heart attack, it was when your lungs could no longer pull in air.

The soldiers were only following orders. He didn’t know whether they enjoyed their work, but he understood the need for the money and the security the army gave them.

From somewhere deep within his soul, he found the strength and called out that they should be forgiven. No one paid attention to the words, the first he’d spoken since the ordeal began.

Two petty criminals were with him; the three of them united by the same fate. It seemed strange that his death would be shared by these men, when he’d been accused of illegally seeking power. A revolutionary between two paupers; how fitting. Someone had a macabre sense of humor. He thought about that for a moment. It didn’t take the pain even remotely away, but it distracted him for the briefest passage of time.

Looking out over the crowd, he saw his wife. His small son wasn’t there. That was good. No boy should see his father die in such a painful and harsh manner.

While it gave him some strength to see his wife, he was also distraught. Somehow, through the pain, he was humiliated that she should witness his suffering. He had always wanted to be strong for her. But they had stripped him of all power. The feeling of helplessness that pervaded his mind was made worse by the physical agony.

How would she manage? Where would she live? Would she always be condemned because she’d been his wife? Maybe she’d remarry. His wife was beautiful. She’d known many men before they met. She would meet another. It was a harsh life for a single woman. She needed to find someone after he was gone. It was hard to think these thoughts, but he had to be honest with himself, especially at this time.

What of his son? He worried for him. His wife was a good woman, and she would see that he was safe. But there was a pain that went well beyond the physical. He would never see his son grow to manhood. He had been so looking forward to the joy of being a father. Now it had been stolen from him.

And for what? He was a preacher of peace and believed deeply within his heart that everyone deserved the right to live in harmony with their neighbors. He had asked that people accept his message of forgiveness, understanding, and faith in something greater than themselves. It had been a privilege to teach and pass along whatever wisdom he possessed. Most of those who had gathered to hear his words were gentle people. They merely sought an answer to the meaning of their lives. He hoped his time with them had provided answers and solace.

The man had tried to change things. Looking back on his life, he wondered if he had made a difference. There were others who would follow and carry his name and teachings into the future. But would it be enough? The land and its people had, for too many years, known the destruction that comes with war and an invading army’s occupation. The many poor experienced only poverty and bloodshed while the few rich knew wealth and security. Would there ever be peace and equality? The answer lay in the future—a time and place he would not live to see.

The agony of pain was slowly enveloping his mind. The thoughts were becoming fragmented. But he needed to think, even as his body grew weaker. His inner world was a refuge from the horror of this experience.

Who was to blame for this? His father had often said this would be his destiny. It angered him to know he was suffering a fate that could have been prevented. He could find no blame for the one who had betrayed him to the authorities. The traitor was merely playing a role that had been preordained. The man would not journey into the afterlife holding hatred in his heart.

But his father possessed absolute power over these people. Yet he had stood by and let the soldiers capture his son. His father had not been present when they’d sentenced him to death. There had been no rescue as the soldiers had walked him to this place.

Someone lifted up a wet towel on the end of a pole. He refused to drink, too proud to show weakness in front of these soldiers. Death would be on his terms.

He saw the soldiers dividing up his clothes. So it had come to this. They knew, just as everyone did, that he would not be leaving this place alive. Thinking again of his father, he knew there’d be no rescue. He had hoped and prayed that his father would arrive and intervene. Even as the day had worn on and his mind had wandered in and out of consciousness, he had still believed in his father’s mercy. Why would he let them do this to his only son?

The man knew the answer. He was being sacrificed for a greater cause. Would his death make people treat each other with respect, understanding, and kindness? He didn’t know the answer, and the pain was clouding everything. But now that his life was close to ending, he hoped that, at some point, people would appreciate what his time on earth had achieved. That would give his life meaning.

And in that moment, he forgave his father.

What could that mean? He watched in horror and fear as the soldier pulled back his arm and thrust the spear upward. The pain was beyond anything he’d ever felt. It tore through his body and sent his mind spinning in an agonizing haze.

He had held out against death for so long, but now with this added pain, he wanted it to come. He was ready to surrender. No man should have to endure this to close out his life.

Why prolong the agony?