Luke 22- Josiah

The next morning I went into the city determined to find this man. That’s when I saw him, Jesus, teaching to a crowd. I tried to get in as closely as I could, when I saw Judas approaching from the side. He had roman soldiers and other officials with him. That’s when I started running- I had to warn him! But the soldiers blocked from every possible angle and all I could do was watch. Judas approached Jesus and kissed him. Later I learned that this was sign for the group to arrest him. Once the disciples saw them coming, they tried to fight them off with swords, one even cut the ear off of the high priest!
But then Jesus did something weird- he told them to stop defending him. At first I thought he would use his divine powers to kill the people who got in his way- it only made sense. But instead, he healed the high priest’s ear, and surrendered. Why would he let them just arrest him for no good reason? And why would they arrest him if they knew he was obviously powerful (he just healed a man’s cut off ear!). They took him away, and I tried to keep up but fell behind.
I searched and finally found a crowd surrounding him. But this time he wasn’t just in a robe and sandals- he didn’t even look like him. He was beaten black and blue. His back was torn up from being whipped, and he was being spit on and insulted. I could barely look, but then I couldn’t look away. They were torturing him! And this type of treatment wasn’t half as bad as what they were planning to do to him. I watched painfully as the Roman soldiers than nailed his hands to a cross and crucified him. I have personally never seen anything like this before, and I couldn’t help but vomit as I watched. His body was mangled and his face was barely recognizable. Why wasn’t he saving himself?! He had done so many other miracles, but he couldn’t heal or save himself?
The last few moments were like slow motion. When he died, and everyone knew when he died, there was an ominous dark feeling; then an earthquake, screaming, and a moment of absolute fear. He was dead. I didn’t know what to say or feel- but maybe he wasn’t who I thought he was. He couldn’t even save himself, and why would he not want to do so?
Three days passed before I was to leave the city- my journey had felt pointless and unsatisfying. Gathering my things together, I heard a brief scuffle nearby. A woman was running to a group of men, who I soon recognized to be the disciples of Jesus before he died. She seemed hysterical, and then I figured she must be crazy, because she started spouting crazy statements. “His body is gone from the tomb!” She was panting and pulling at them. His body was gone? That couldn’t be right- how could it be gone?
The disciples didn’t even believe her. But for some strange reason, I felt a little bit of hope. Maybe he did save himself; I just didn’t see it- or I missed it somehow. I lost sight of the disciples, but I decided to stay a few extra days in the city. A couple days later I was walking in a crowded part of the city, when I all of sudden heard screaming. I quickly turned and saw him. No joke. Jesus was standing right there, nearly 15 feet in front of me. People ran up to him to touch his scars, the scars of the nails. I couldn’t believe it. He was alive! He rose from the dead!
This was all it took for me. The rumors of Jesus being the Messiah had to be true- no other man could this miracle. No other man could defeat death! Not only did I suddenly feel overjoyed, but I also felt complete. God’s son was in front of me, in the living flesh. There had to be hope for humanity, including myself, now. My journey was successful.