They dragged him before the authorities.
They beat him. They made him the butt of their jokes.
They were strong then, and he weak. They strutted, he stumbled. They crowed, he wept.
They engineered an officially sanctioned lynching, and as they watched the soldiers drive the nails they were confident of one thing: they had won. He was defeated.
He hung there for hours.
Even his friends deserted him.
They had been saying he was the One, the Christ. He said so himself. But here he was on a Roman cross, and many now said, This proves he was lying all along, or he would save himself.
He said, "Forgive them, Father. They don't know what they're doing."
And then he died.
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