Short Story
The Man on the Middle Cross
It was just another day in a long succession of hard days.
Days spent wondering how to provide.
Days spent trying to survive under the crushing weight of Roman taxes.
Life had never been the same since the Romans came.
It wasn’t like he wanted to steal, but hunger and desperation have a way of silencing conscience. Survival leaves little room for pride.
He thought he had gotten away with it.
But the Romans caught him.
Dragged before the courts, he barely had time to speak. The officials seemed distracted, almost impatient, as though something far more important was happening elsewhere in the city.
The verdict came quickly.
“Guilty.”
The sentence was crucifixion.
The cruelest punishment Rome had ever devised.
As he sat waiting for death, he could hear chaos outside. Crowds shouting. Soldiers yelling. Something was happening, though he could not see what it was.
Another condemned man sat nearby under the same sentence.
Then the soldiers came for them both.
They marched them through the streets and up the hill they called Golgotha.
The nails tore through flesh and wood alike as they were lifted onto their crosses. Pain ripped through his body with every breath.
But there was a third cross.
Empty.
For a moment.
Then he saw Him.
A man so beaten He barely looked human, stumbling beneath the weight of a crossbeam while another man carried it for Him.
They nailed Him to the middle cross.
When they dropped it into the ground, His whole body jolted with agony.
Yet He did not curse.
He did not scream threats.
He did not spit hatred.
The man hanging on the other side began mocking Him.
“If you are the Christ, save Yourself and us!”
But something about the Man in the middle was different.
Even beaten and broken, there was a peace about Him. A purity. A weight of innocence unlike anything he had ever seen.
So he turned and rebuked the other thief.
“Don’t you fear God? We deserve this. But this Man has done nothing wrong.”
Then he looked toward the middle cross.
Through blood stained eyes, the Man looked back at him.
Not with anger.
Not disgust.
But with love.
A love deeper than anything he had ever known.
And then the Man spoke.
“Today you will be with Me in paradise.”
He did not understand.
How could this Man speak of paradise to someone like him?
He was a thief.
A criminal.
A guilty man dying for his sins.
The world faded.
Darkness came.
And then
He opened his eyes.
Everything was different.
The air felt alive.
Peace surrounded him like a river. Beauty stretched farther than his eyes could see.
Ahead stood great gates shining with glory.
As he approached, a radiant being stepped before him, blazing with light and splendour.
The voice was powerful yet piercing.
“Who are you, and why are you here?”
Fear gripped him.
He looked around again at the beauty surrounding him and suddenly became aware of what he was.
Unworthy.
Ashamed.
Out of place.
“I, I don’t know,” he answered softly. “I was being crucified for my crimes. I deserved death.”
His voice trembled.
“But the Man on the middle cross”
Tears filled his eyes.
“He told me to come.”
The Man on the Middle Cross
It was just another day in a long succession of hard days.
Days spent wondering how to provide.
Days spent trying to survive under the crushing weight of Roman taxes.
Life had never been the same since the Romans came.
It wasn’t like he wanted to steal, but hunger and desperation have a way of silencing conscience. Survival leaves little room for pride.
He thought he had gotten away with it.
But the Romans caught him.
Dragged before the courts, he barely had time to speak. The officials seemed distracted, almost impatient, as though something far more important was happening elsewhere in the city.
The verdict came quickly.
“Guilty.”
The sentence was crucifixion.
The cruelest punishment Rome had ever devised.
As he sat waiting for death, he could hear chaos outside. Crowds shouting. Soldiers yelling. Something was happening, though he could not see what it was.
Another condemned man sat nearby under the same sentence.
Then the soldiers came for them both.
They marched them through the streets and up the hill they called Golgotha.
The nails tore through flesh and wood alike as they were lifted onto their crosses. Pain ripped through his body with every breath.
But there was a third cross.
Empty.
For a moment.
Then he saw Him.
A man so beaten He barely looked human, stumbling beneath the weight of a crossbeam while another man carried it for Him.
They nailed Him to the middle cross.
When they dropped it into the ground, His whole body jolted with agony.
Yet He did not curse.
He did not scream threats.
He did not spit hatred.
The man hanging on the other side began mocking Him.
“If you are the Christ, save Yourself and us!”
But something about the Man in the middle was different.
Even beaten and broken, there was a peace about Him. A purity. A weight of innocence unlike anything he had ever seen.
So he turned and rebuked the other thief.
“Don’t you fear God? We deserve this. But this Man has done nothing wrong.”
Then he looked toward the middle cross.
Through blood stained eyes, the Man looked back at him.
Not with anger.
Not disgust.
But with love.
A love deeper than anything he had ever known.
And then the Man spoke.
“Today you will be with Me in paradise.”
He did not understand.
How could this Man speak of paradise to someone like him?
He was a thief.
A criminal.
A guilty man dying for his sins.
The world faded.
Darkness came.
And then
He opened his eyes.
Everything was different.
The air felt alive.
Peace surrounded him like a river. Beauty stretched farther than his eyes could see.
Ahead stood great gates shining with glory.
As he approached, a radiant being stepped before him, blazing with light and splendour.
The voice was powerful yet piercing.
“Who are you, and why are you here?”
Fear gripped him.
He looked around again at the beauty surrounding him and suddenly became aware of what he was.
Unworthy.
Ashamed.
Out of place.
“I, I don’t know,” he answered softly. “I was being crucified for my crimes. I deserved death.”
His voice trembled.
“But the Man on the middle cross”
Tears filled his eyes.
“He told me to come.”
Short Story
The Man on the Middle Cross
It was just another day in a long succession of hard days.
Days spent wondering how to provide.
Days spent trying to survive under the crushing weight of Roman taxes.
Life had never been the same since the Romans came.
It wasn’t like he wanted to steal, but hunger and desperation have a way of silencing conscience. Survival leaves little room for pride.
He thought he had gotten away with it.
But the Romans caught him.
Dragged before the courts, he barely had time to speak. The officials seemed distracted, almost impatient, as though something far more important was happening elsewhere in the city.
The verdict came quickly.
“Guilty.”
The sentence was crucifixion.
The cruelest punishment Rome had ever devised.
As he sat waiting for death, he could hear chaos outside. Crowds shouting. Soldiers yelling. Something was happening, though he could not see what it was.
Another condemned man sat nearby under the same sentence.
Then the soldiers came for them both.
They marched them through the streets and up the hill they called Golgotha.
The nails tore through flesh and wood alike as they were lifted onto their crosses. Pain ripped through his body with every breath.
But there was a third cross.
Empty.
For a moment.
Then he saw Him.
A man so beaten He barely looked human, stumbling beneath the weight of a crossbeam while another man carried it for Him.
They nailed Him to the middle cross.
When they dropped it into the ground, His whole body jolted with agony.
Yet He did not curse.
He did not scream threats.
He did not spit hatred.
The man hanging on the other side began mocking Him.
“If you are the Christ, save Yourself and us!”
But something about the Man in the middle was different.
Even beaten and broken, there was a peace about Him. A purity. A weight of innocence unlike anything he had ever seen.
So he turned and rebuked the other thief.
“Don’t you fear God? We deserve this. But this Man has done nothing wrong.”
Then he looked toward the middle cross.
Through blood stained eyes, the Man looked back at him.
Not with anger.
Not disgust.
But with love.
A love deeper than anything he had ever known.
And then the Man spoke.
“Today you will be with Me in paradise.”
He did not understand.
How could this Man speak of paradise to someone like him?
He was a thief.
A criminal.
A guilty man dying for his sins.
The world faded.
Darkness came.
And then
He opened his eyes.
Everything was different.
The air felt alive.
Peace surrounded him like a river. Beauty stretched farther than his eyes could see.
Ahead stood great gates shining with glory.
As he approached, a radiant being stepped before him, blazing with light and splendour.
The voice was powerful yet piercing.
“Who are you, and why are you here?”
Fear gripped him.
He looked around again at the beauty surrounding him and suddenly became aware of what he was.
Unworthy.
Ashamed.
Out of place.
“I, I don’t know,” he answered softly. “I was being crucified for my crimes. I deserved death.”
His voice trembled.
“But the Man on the middle cross”
Tears filled his eyes.
“He told me to come.”
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