I Wonder

I wonder what the people thought who did not know the prisoner's name; so many men had staggered by in public solitude and shame, what was He more than other men who had walked outside the walls to die, and those with tears who followed Him-- do not most dead leave some who cry? I wonder what the children thought, who just a few short days before had waved palm branches in the street, crying, "Hosanna, to the Lord!" Why was the kindest man they knew, who understood their ways and needs, bearing a cross through Jerusalem like those who did unrighteous deeds. I wonder what the soldiers thought who rudely mocked a silent king; how many flogged and tortured so had never spoken anything? Was only one of all who stood on guard for Rome to watch Him die able to say with contrite heart, "This is God's Son; He did not lie." I wonder what the women thought, the ones who would not hide in fear but followed even to the cross to watch him die through veils of tears. Did they not know that He could take their dreams safely through death with Him and on the third day rise again triumphant over death and sin. I wonder what we would have thought in our self-righteous ignorance; what role would you or I have played, if we had known such circumstance? Would I have been a Pharisee, or just a stranger passing by, Herod, Pilate, a Roman guard, or a Mary on the day Christ died? © Faye Lanham Gibson, 1987