It was clean except for one – no, two things. They were unobtrusive, but caught her eye. On the floor near the wall lay a towel; a muddy towel, now dried. And near it sat a basin of dirty water. Strange things left in such a clean room.

She wandered over to the table. She’d heard the stories. You couldn’t live here and not have heard about the man who said things so remarkable they sent shivers down your spine; who healed – healed! – lame people who hadn’t felt the earth beneath their feet for years, if ever; and who talked with anyone, not just the important or educated or honored. Oh yes, she’d heard. She, herself, had heard from her neighbor’s daughter’s friend about a woman caught in a situation that shouldn’t be spoken of and, instead of hurling accusations with the rest, he had asked some questions that had sent her accusers running. There was something very gratifying in that, though she couldn’t say exactly what.

She’d heard the rumors, too. He had said – reportedly, mind you – that “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father”. The Father. God! He’d actually said that! That comment right there did it for some people. It was a bridge too far. But others? Not so much. They’d stuck with him. They believed it was true.

And herself? Hmmm. She wasn’t sure. But those healings – you couldn’t deny them. Or the creepy guy in the tombs who was freed from demon-possession. Really. Who does that? Or the huge storm that was stilled in an instant. Seriously.

And now the worst. Because whether you believed him or not, he hadn’t done anything deserving a crucifixion. Those were the whispers spreading through the city. The ones who were offended by his defense of unremarkable, diseased people were crowding together. It’s the way mobs were. And others joined in, of course, because they did whatever anyone else did. They thought whatever anyone else thought. It was almost like they didn’t know they could act or think for themselves.

A loud sound startled her. As it grew louder, she ran to the window and looked out. Oh no! The man! No! NO! Soldiers surrounded him. One of them flicked a whip his way every once in awhile for his own amusement. The man was carrying a cross – those heavy, dirty, terrible, tortuous things. As her breath caught in her throat, he glanced up at her for an instant. And in that instant, her doubt vanished.

Tears started slowly, then ran down her face as her body shuddered with heavy sobs. Why did some people blacken light with dark? Good with bad? What was the point? She wished she could fix it. She wished there was something she could do to chase away the hardened hearts and evil mobs. She wished she could drive them from the whole world, or, at least, from hers. From here. From the street the man with the cross was trudging down.

He was so good. Really good. And kind. And, as she thought about it, one of the purest souls she’d ever known – or at least known about. She harshly brushed her tears away.

Her eyes roamed the room in a last once-over. Ah. Here was a crumb on the table. Unleavened bread. How could she have missed it? Oh. And a drop of wine. She began to clear them with one swipe, hesitated, and placed them on the tip of her tongue instead. Then she picked up the towel and basin and walked out.

Image: jackson-david-8qudl9pDZJ0-unsplash.jpg; Scripture text: John 14:9 (on second thought, why don’t you read the whole chapter); Image: mads-schmidt-rasmussen-v0PWN7Z38ag-unsplash.jpg