Shall I continue this journal? Will others accept my account? Shall I simply destroy these words? As days pass I am able to re-live the sadness. There is a chance to diminish man’s cruelty. I take that chance. We are here in this world to make life worthy. We are here to teach others. Teaching is no easier than learning. No one has ever had my vantage point: this permits me to continue.
I searched for a friendly face among the mob...Peter...Mother...Matthew... Clibus...
Barabbas was brought before the judges and liberated with jeers and laughter. He passed by me, a great, tall man. As he walked away I was led to a whipping post, bound, and lashed with thongs; I was lashed until unconscious. Courage, where was my courage to bear the crucifixion.
I tried to think...
In a barren hall soldiers stripped me and put a filthy robe around me and forced a crown of thorns on my head. Six or eight men confronted me. They mocked me.
“Hail, king of the Jews,” they hollered.
Priests appeared and cried: “Crucify him...he calls himself the Son of God. Kill him.” Pilate appeared and asked: “Who are you?” I could not speak because of pain.
“Speak to me...don’t you realize I have the power to set you free.”
I was thinking of Judas.