Reflection for Easter Day

Of rumour and bribery

And you would have thought that would be the end of it. When someone is crucified by our trusty team they’re dead. Stone cold, clinically dead. They’re not getting up and singing anywhere. And that’s what the ‘whole break the legs’ ‘stab the side’ thing is all about. To make sure that the crim on the cross is really dead.

You go back to the Dodgy Brothers Inn, have a few goblets of their finest. The memory gets fuzzy and the clinging grime of your grubby conscience is washed away.

But it wasn’t the end of the story with the carpenter guy. The one who I smashed the nails through his feet and hands. The one who seemed like he was actually relieved to finally lie down on the cross. The one who didn’t prolong his death so we didn’t have to bust his legs. I just rammed a spear in his side and the goop ran out. It ran spattering down onto the dusty ground and formed a small pool at the bottom of the cross. Evaporating as quickly as it had arrived.

I mean… that’s pretty final and convincing right?

But no… it seems that Jesus had said that he would rise again after three days and in order to make sure no one comes and steals the body, something that happens more times than what you’d think,  Festus and I get orders to roll a severely  big boulder in front of the tomb. It took the both of us a lot of sweat and grunt to get it into place. I don’t care how well you’re built or how many fig pancakes you’ve had for breakfast there ain’t no one going to be able to move that big fella out of the way.

But the job still isn’t done. Gonzo, Festus and I get orders to stay up all night guarding this tomb just to make sure no one comes to try and move the rock and then steal the body.

And I’m thinking ‘Really?’ This is a corpse, a dead person. And in front of him is a mega boulder and in front of the mega boulder are the three of us. Couldn’t we all just nick off down to the Dodgy Brothers Inn and have a bit of R & R?

But no, orders is orders. Gonzo negotiates a good deal for this extra over time, but in the middle of the night you wonder why you signed up with Caesar and whether this was really a good career move. I can think of lots of other things I would rather be doing on this frosty, eerie night. Festus has brought a skin of wine to warm us up but it's not like snuggling down under the blanket and catching a few well earned snores.

So we drink a little, tell lewd stories, snore a little, until the first false light of dawn arrives.

And then everything happens. The earth moves around, an angel appears and us fearsome, fearless  boys run away. None of us is really what sure happened, but as I look back over my shoulder I can see that the boulder we worked so hard to put into place is rolled aside. I know that we are officially in lots of trouble. Our job was to guard the grave and here we are running away like frightened shepherd boys.

It’s Gonzo’s idea to fess up because everyone knows we were the ones sent to guard the tomb. Cornelius is surprisingly understanding. I guess that he is just protecting himself as well.

“Look lads” he says.. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“I’ll  give you each a large sum of money  and you spread the word that His disciples came and stole him away while you were asleep.”

It’s the easiest 30 pieces of silver I have ever made and while I accept the cash, it just doesn’t sit right. I know what I saw, I know what I heard and just as sure as I saw Jesus breathe his rasping, gasping  last, so too I know the last time I saw the tomb it was open.

On the way home we start spreading the rumour that the carpenters’ groupies came and did some grave robbing. We start with Flavia who runs the fig leaf lingerie shop. She loves to hear a bit of gossip and thrives on telling anyone who will listen. She will add her own unique twist to the story. We call her the O. B. P. Official Broadcasting Person. There’s one in every town.

Job done. By the time the sun is high in the sky the story will be spread around quicker than Matilda can wink.

I sleep off the exhaustion, the fear, the nightmare, the fatigue that comes with everyone you murder.

I get up from my stretcher and wash the blood off my arms. It’s dried and congealed into  crusty brown streaks by now and as it runs down I see the 30 silver pieces out the corner of my eye. Somehow it still isn’t right. Not quite sure what I should do with it but for the first time I realise that the choice is mine.

I guess I could keep the money and squander it in the usual places in the usual ways. Where’s Matilda when you need her?

Or

I could get up tomorrow, put on the uniform, extort, belittle and intimidate, have a great time… …

Or

I could…