We meet Gonzo and his goons.
Palm Sunday
You’ll recall that I helped to arrest this Jesus guy in the garden. We then marched him off to meet some friends called Gonzo and his goons.
They are exactly as they sound. Rough, tough and ready to give a bit of biff, Henchmen par-excellence. Their job is to make the person before us so unrecognisable, that when it comes time for crucifixion, the thing before us will not look like a human being. It’s easier that way. We will be just putting something out of its pathetic little misery. We are actually being humane and doing it a great service.
This task is accomplished by a bit of sport, a bit of imagination, a bit of teasing, a bit of tomfoolery, a bit of muscle. It’s incredible to see how quickly the shift occurs from being a living, breathing person, to an object which is demeaned and disfigured.
Gonzo and his goons also have a great talent for making the punishment fit the crime. So a thief will often have his fingers cut off … one at a time.
The crime for Jesus is that he claimed he was a king… of sorts. Very well. Let the games begin.
Gonzo starts the party by weaving together a very crude spiky crown of thorns. He does this precariously because the spikes are long and sharp, but he has no hesitation in ramming it on Jesus head as hard and as fast as he can. His scalp is pierced and blood begins to trickle down his forehead and cheeks.
Now then, a couple of slaps never hurt anyone and Jesus head snaps quickly first from one side then to the other as the relentless blows continue.
“Hail king of the Jews”.
He’s not looking like a king now, in fact he’s looking pretty mushed, what with Pilates 39 lashes and the bruises that are blossoming on his face.
I’m watching all this and it’s surreal. I can see it’s happening, but its like a dream and I know that tonight when I close my eyes what I am seeing now, will be replayed in vivid detail. You can’t un-see this sort of stuff. You can’t un-hear the crunch, the groan, the sickening thump of flesh striking flesh.
Next it’s time to play dress ups. They totally strip this guy of his clothes and put on a purple robe, all the time mocking and insulting. ‘There ya go your royal highness, check this out. Specially made for you.’
Oh, and no king is complete without a sceptre. Someone brings in a gnarly bit of wood and sticks it in his hand. Gonzo kneels down ‘Your worshipfulness free yourself.. you have the power ‘ But it is all Jesus can do just to breathe and stay on his feet. He is beginning to totter and swagger. A little unsteady.
Several of the goons join in quickly hitting him from different sides “Who hit you king of the Jews? Prophesy for us”. And then the spitting starts.
I’ve been a soldier now for 3 years. I’ve seen this sport almost on a weekly basis now, but somehow I never quite got my head around it.
There’s still no response from Jesus and the energy of the sport inevitably ebbs away. I mean, how much can you do to someone that just stands there. Jesus doesn’t give back into the sport. He just takes it all. The game would go on longer if he tried to retaliate; but he doesn’t and now I think he physically couldn’t, even if he wanted to. But that doesn’t seem to be his plan and in fact I’m not sure what his plan is, or was, or if he even had a plan.
So his old clothes are put back on him and they lead him away. All of Gonzo's party games are exhausted and it’s time to play with the next victim who I lead in for the sport. You can see the terror in his eyes especially when he spots the blood on the ground. He tries to make a run for it. There are yelps and howls of pleasure as Gonzo and his goons swiftly run him to ground. His escape is unsuccessful. Very unsuccessful.
As soon as I can head off to the Dodgy Brothers Inn to try to wash away the gore of the day. A bit of wine to numb the edges. Sometimes I reckon I should have been a flower arranger. Matilda gives me one of her alluring looks but I am in no mood for treats. I return home and sure enough as soon I close my eyes, the torture of Jesus is re run … again and again. It’s not just the ghoulishness of Gonzo and his goons that sticks with me, it's the placid way that Jesus just drank in all the hate, all the evil, all the anger. Almost like he sopped it up until there was none left.
Tomorrow life will go on… I’ll get up, put on the uniform, extort, belittle and intimidate; maybe even watch Gonzo and his goons play some more games. I’ll have a great time… … and yet… and yet… now,.. now it’s my turn to cry.