If his calloused hands could tell a story, it would be a tale of the struggle of a people to free themselves from the tyranny of Roman rule. And if his eyes reflected anything, it was the story of his life turned criminal. Only this morning, he was between the devil and the deep blue sea. Death row. Outlaw. With him, it never rained – it only poured. Or so it seemed until the crowd chose him over another man. Yes, he’d seen this man, curiously followed him around, but that was just that. The zealot he was, the thought of turning the other cheek was revolting to him; talk of walking the second mile didn’t sit well with him. The admonition to pray for them which despitefully used him did not resonate with his avowed mission to avenge self and nation. To die in order to live? That, quite frankly, he did not fathom. So he trudges along the Via Dolorosa and paces around Golgotha, trying to make head and tail of all the happenings in the last couple of hours. His gaze shifts from the three crosses in the distance to his cracked feet. It occurs to him that perhaps a fourth cross is missing…on his account. Then, in almost an instant – a moment in eternity – his shifty gaze locks with the piercing eyes of the third man. The man in the middle. The man that claimed to be real God. And in that one moment, like the epic story of the Red Sea crossing he had heard countless times as a child, his life flashes right before Him. Frame after frame. Misdeed after good deed, after misdeed. And his knees and gaze give way to the stony ground below him. You see, Bar-abbas (‘son of daddy’ in Hebrew) – little else is said about him – could have been anybody’s son. What am told is that Barabbas, who rightly and squarely deserved to die, just like me, committed a crime for which Jesus was only accused of. But because Jesus is dying in his place, he is seeing the light of day. Just like me. You know, when he mustered the strength to stand up, this former son-at-large walked away a changed man knowing, that THE Father had adopted him and given him the right and privilege to call him Abba – “Daddy”. Just like me. https://jacob.zikusooka.com/