The Quiet Christ – Part 1

Salvation was the last thing on my mind. Day in and day out, the first and only things I thought about were to “kill or be killed, to plunder or be robbed, and revolt or submit, the forbidden ‘s’ word. My life was one of constant movement, running from the Pharisees, Sadducees (I prefer to call them the harass-ees) and the like. I was always the life of my angry, ranting ‘parties;’ always demanding revenge against Harod, Caesar, whoever, it didn’t matter to me. Nothing mattered to me, I didn’t matter to me!
Before I ended up here, in the filth and mire of death row, I was always running, yelling or both. Whether it was for my life or my death, I was not sure. Rioting in the day, when I could be seen, and robbing at night, my life had become what I did for a living, a riot. Peace, what is peace? It did not exist for me and I had no desire to find out if it could. Life wasn’t great, but it was what I had made it. And at least I wasn’t a tax collector, a leper or a woman; and there are lots of those. So, as I see it, I guess I was somewhere in the middle of Caesar’s hierarchy.
I’ve been here on death row for a week because of my latest rantings. Though they have put me away for a night and a day many times before, whether a few weeks for robbery, a few days for raising a ruckus downtown or a few hours for rape, I’ve always found my way out. Many friends of mine have received slaps on the wrist like these before, but I am the first to sleep here.
For a few days, I was proud of myself. “Matthias or Judas had never been here. If I would live to tell the story, they would be proud of me,” I thought. But I didn’t care. Instead of eating bread and wine I had stolen, locusts and drips of dirty water were now my regular diet. Sleeping in my own disgusting mess, on this cold, compacted slab of dirt in this pitch black dungeon was the pit I had dug for myself. I guess I better just lie in it.
It seemed like I had spent an eternity here before anyone yelled at me from the other side of the wall, until I recognized Matt’s voice, a friend whom I had robbed with on many occasions. The last time I heard from him, he had told me of someone who might just be my room mate.
Matt - Hey Rabby, are you in there?
Rabby – Yeah, wasting away as normal. I am getting used to the taste of locusts. Hey, can you throw me anything?
Matt – Just some day old bread, I’ll try to get it through your window, it’s pretty tiny though. Hey have you heard about this guy, Jesus?
Rabby – Oh, that guy. Lots of people are talking about him. I hear he’s gonna die with me soon. He’s just another criminal like me, another worthless, useless bag of scum with no reason to live. When he gets in here, heaven knows what I’ll do to him.
Matt – But he’s not quite like that. Yeah, he may be your room mate soon, but thousands of people follow him every day. I heard that he has healed people of leprosy, allowed the lame to walk, given sight back to the blind, raised the dead and even healed people from a distance!
As Matt continued to yell from the other side of the wall, I became intrigued as never before. Though Matt had finally thrown some bread through the window, I wasn’t hungry. I was too interested to eat. This man had been charged by the Harassees with a similar crime as mine and they hoped to given my sentence for doing the exact opposite of what I had done. Instead of robbing and murdering, this man had created more of what the people needed, like bread and wine and that sort of stuff. And instead of rioting, this man had offered peace. My attitude began to change.
Rabby – He has some kind of ‘in’ with people in high places, huh? Could he get any bread or wine in here? Gee, if my cell mate can do that, I wonder if he can pick these chains apart too.
Matt – Well apparently, he’s done it all. He’s quite a magician. I’ve heard that he’s walked on water, turned water into wine and he’s even fed the thousands who follow him with a shepherd boy’s lunch.
Rabby – Well, that will definitely keep them coming back for more.
Matt – But that’s just it. He says that we don’t have to come back for more bread or water. He says he is the manna and the well spring of life.
Rabby – If he can provide all that food, that’s quite a currier service he’s running.
Matt – And the clincher is the best part. All we need to do to get all this is believe.
Rabby – Believe what?
Matt – Believe that he is who he says he is.
Rabby – Well, who is he?
Matt – He says he’s the son of his father.
Rabby – Well, that makes sense, so am I.
Matt – But that’s why the Harassees want to kill him. He says his father is . . . Yahweh!
Rabby – Well, if he ever comes in here, I’ll ask him about it.
As Matt left and I slowly gnawed my way through the tough bread he had thrown through the window, I began to wonder. “Manna and wine of life . . . Healer, even from a distance. . . Son of Yahweh. . . Well, my life looks like it will end soon. He can’t give me what I really need because he’s out there and I’m in here. And even if he could give me life for a few days, it wouldn’t matter, because we will both be dead soon. But how can he give life anyway? He’s just like me, ‘the son of his father.’ He’s a nobody.

The Quiet Christ - Part 2

I will never forget the next night. As I heard another few hammer-whacks pounding nails into flesh and wood, and the agonizing cries that immediately followed, I began to see life, or rather death, from their point of view. It was just a matter of time when that would be me, and time was ticking. When I was free, I remember seeing their crosses on the roadside. It scares me half to death when I hear them groan.
It was now late Friday evening (at least I think it was Friday) and Jerusalem would soon celebrate the Passover. It would be my first Passover in prison. On most
evenings, people were in their homes getting ready for the coming meal, but tonight I could hear the faint murmur of a distant, angry mob shouting my name. My ears perked up. After a short hush, I heard the mob shout even louder, “Crucify Him, Crucify Him!” I guess tonight is my night to join those other criminals on the crosses outside, and my hope of having a new room mate, has run out.
But wait . . . the doors were opening . . . ‘who’s the new criminal?’ . . . But there was none. Just a couple of guards walking purposefully in my direction!
Guard – “Barabbas?”
Rabby – “Yeah, it’s my time isn’t it.”
Guard – “The crowds want you, so out with you.”
As they led me through the streets to the waiting crowd, protesting outside Pilate’s house, my knees shook and buckled as I expected the worst. But nothing came. This gruff form of mercy was something I had never felt before. Maybe I’ll get to see the city one last time before hanging from a cross.
But as I drew closer, I heard the crowd chanting joyfully, “Barabbas is free, and Jesus will die! Barabbas is free, and Jesus will die! Barabbas is free, and Jesus will die!”
Is this Jesus the same person Matt was talking about? The man who can heal from a distance?
As I looked up, I saw the man I thought was Jesus. Wearing a crown of thorns on his head, he had marks from his most recent scourging showing through the purple garment he was wearing, down to his bare feet. He was being led away by several guards who took turns mocking him, hitting him with their staffs on his thorny crown, chanting “hail, king of the Jews!” And this ‘king of the Jews’ would die instead of me? This didn’t make sense. Night time is usually the best time to rob people, but I would set my job aside for one night to watch this fascinating plot unfold.
Pilate decided that the crucifixion would take place on scull hill, a place where I had been many times to say my last good byes to some of my closest friends. And if I had time, I would have asked Judas and Matt to come along with me. But who knows, maybe they were in the crowd.
It took a good hour to make it to the top as Jesus, whom they referred to as ‘the Christ turned criminal’, who was carrying his cross, was in no rush to be nailed to it. I was somewhere in the middle; hearing jeers from Harassees and other men, weeping from women pleading for his release and hungry, tired children, who didn’t want to be there at all.
Though there was hardly any room for a passing lane, a man running towards us attempted to do just that. Late for dinner I suspect. But the Harassees denied him safe passage and demanded that he carry Jesus’ cross back up Skull hill, as he had collapsed under its weight and didn’t have the energy to rise without help. If there was anyone who deserved to carry a cross, this cross, it was me. I could feel a tear running down my cheek because I could not give him the help he needed. He was taking my place, after all.
I was shell-shocked at the recent events. Two hours ago, I was expecting to die at any time. Instead, I am here, watching a complete stranger take my place and die instead. I began to connect the stories Matt had told me the other day and those of crying women behind me. They seemed to make sense somehow. “If this man had done all these good things, why is this happening to him? If I had done all of these bad things, why is this happening to me?”

The Quiet Christ – Part 3

After he was nailed up, I sat down behind the Harassees with my two friends who were in the crowd after all. Those who had crucified him started to throw dice for the clothes of the three criminals on the three crosses. Jesus, the quiet one, was in the middle and most of the relentless attention, scoffing and mocking was directed at him. But he said nothing! If they hadn’t yet done enough to scorn this man, someone wrote a sign that labeled his crime: “King of the Jews”. Gee, that sounds familiar. I didn’t know Harod’s title was a crime? The Harassees said that we should just leave him alone, so Judas, Matt and I sat behind them, hoping to receive some of the warmth from the fire they had made.
If you haven’t seen a crucifixion, they are long, ugly and tiring. Like a prison sentence where the goal is simply to ‘do the time,’ the responsibility of a crucified man is both to ‘do the time’ and ‘bear the pain.’ I hate the idea of doing both.
In addition, though it was mid afternoon, this crucifixion took place in the dark. Soon after the Harassees lit their fire, the heavenly lights went out and the only source of light and warmth was those quickly quenching flames. Needless to say, with no light, nothing to do, and little to talk about, we all fell asleep.
Some time later, we awoke. The fire had long gone out, the game of dice had ended because of the darkness, and those Harassees had gone. Others had come to take their place, but only a few people still remained.
As we leaned against each other, talking, rubbing our hands together to keep warm, nodding in and out of sleep, none of us were thinking about work. We were all thinking about how an innocent man could receive a sentence he did not deserve. Judas, Matt or myself would have been ideal candidates, but this man? I know I am supposed to be a cold blooded, hardened criminal, but in spite of the cold around me, I began to sense warmth that I had never felt before, and somehow it seemed to come from this quiet one.
He remained that way for hours, refusing to answer the ridicules he received from all sides. But if someone mentioned something important, he did his best to answer their comments. For instance, at about two o’clock, one of the criminals asked:
Right criminal – “What are you doing here? I’m here for a good reason. I stole, killed, molested. But you? You just gave. Please remember me when you enter your kingdom. I’ll always remember you.”
Than I heard him speak for the first time.
Jesus – “Don’t worry. You’ll do more than remember me. You’ll be with me.”
How can he be so comforting when he is so uncomfortable? Does he know something that no one else knows? I guess he really must have friends in high places. And what was that about a ‘kingdom’? Really? You mean this title ‘King of the Jews” is more than just a cruel joke?
Though we continued to sit with our backs to each other, me watching the cross, and my friends watching the many passers by along the road, my friends began to be more and more interested whenever the quiet one spoke. The criminals, however, were constantly talking, making verbal jabs at each other, the passers by, and especially at him.
Right criminal - “Who do you think you are? If you are the Son of God, do something Godly. Dying on a cross certainly isn’t Godly!”
Left criminal - “So, you are the King of the Jews, are you. Well, I’m a Jew, and you are definitely not my king.”
Even the Harassees acted like children, making faces ridiculing this helpless man and chanting: “Nah, Nah Nah Boo Boo, you can’t catch me!”
But the quiet one was the man of the hour. He just took it. And some how he let their comments slide like water off a duck’s back. His mind was truly in another place, and nothing could be said or done to bring it back.
As time passed, the criminals became more and more anxious and, if you can believe it, he became more and more ‘comfortable’. The clincher for me was hearing him say
Jesus – “God, forgive them, they just don’t get it.”
Though I haven’t experienced it, I can imagine that time passes even more slowly when you are the one under pressure, or in this case, under pain. The next time he spoke, it was almost three, and he was obviously reaching the end of his endurance.
Jesus – “God! God!” he shouted, “Where are you? Why have you left me?”
And minutes later, he gave one last gasp, and said:
Jesus – “God, please take my spirit. It’s done!”
And with that, bowing his head, he died.
Immediately after his words, an earth quake that no one in Jerusalem has ever felt before or since shook the ground violently. The criminals on the crosses convulsed, while claps of thunder sounded and forks of lightening could be seen from one horizon to the other. I immediately leaned forward, bringing my knees to my chest burying my nails into my legs, closed my eyes as tight as I could, and shouted a prayer of some sort. I have no idea what I said. We were all crying out of fear.
Once the earth quake and the freak storm subsided, I heard someone close by say, “He surely must have been the son of God!”
Though you may have thought the earth quake was enough to kill them, the other criminals stayed alive until the guards broke their legs, bringing death to a quick completion. And until then, they had no one to poke fun at anymore.
Finally, the sky began to lighten. It was now just past three in the afternoon and I could make out the faces of my companions. Judas’ mouth gaped open as he stared at the dead man, still hanging from the middle cross.
Judas – “Wow, What a death! I’m glad we got to watch that one!”
Matt shrugged and began to walk away, “there will be more of those. I just hope it’s not my crucifixion people watch. If this man was Yahweh’s son, he surely could have done something to prevent it.”
Me? I was just perplexed. Speechless and in awe of this man who had more guts than I ever could. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop myself from weeping, because of grief, thankfulness and exhaustion. I hadn’t cried in many years and though, on previous occasions, I would have worked hard not to be emotional in front of my friends, I had no concern about what they may think of me at this particular moment. It was just me and this man. He was my only thought. What could I possibly do to thank him? Even though I didn’t know him, how could I honor his memory?
These were some of the questions I asked myself over the next few days, months, and years. These were the questions I had about this man, “The quiet Christ”

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure (1847)

Miracle on Fox Street

Everybody has a testimony. A testimony is a story about a test, which a person has encountered, and how they have dealt with that problem. In a court, the testimony of a witness is expressing what they saw take place. The judge then makes a decision based on their testimony whether a defendant is innocent or guilty of a crime. For a Christian, their testimony is the telling of what God has done in a person’s life. Therefore, you could say, “I caught God doing this thing in a person’s life.” For the next few minutes, I want to tell you my testimony and what I experienced God doing.

My testimony begins at my birth, on November 27, 1978 when I was born with a life-threatening sickness called Hydrocephalus, which means water on the brain. This meant that while still in the womb, my brain was severely deformed. After a CAT scan, the doctors determined that I had approximately two percent living brain tissue. They said I would be, a person who is unable to do anything for himself - a vegetable. This news came as a great shock to my parents, who were looking forward to starting their new family in their new home on Fox Street, West Vancouver.

When my Dad held me as a babe, he saw that I had a head the size of a two-year-old, and also as soft as a sponge, due to the amount of water that was in my head. He sensed God tell him to name me David, (which means ‘beloved of God'), and Joseph, (which means ‘He shall add'). At this, Dad knew, first of all, that God loved me, and he believed that God would add brain cells to my tiny brain.

Mom and Dad then listened to the doctors as they told them why I was this way and how Hydrocephalus takes place. “Before a baby is born,” they explained, “water travels up and down its spinal column several times per day. This fluid makes sure that the vital pathways in the body are clear, so the body's essential organs may continue to work. What happened in David's case is that somehow, the fluid was unable to make it all the way down his spinal column. Through time, water backed up his spinal column and filled his head, crushing his brain.”

The doctors continued. “In order for any child to live an ordinary life, they must be born with at least 48 percent brain.” Brain cells do not multiply; the amount of brain tissue a child is born with is the most brain tissue that he/she will ever have.

I was given no longer than one or two days to live. My parents were told by the doctors that surgery could insert a tube (a shunt) that would drain fluid from my head and take pressure off of my brain. However, at that time the procedure was fairly new, plus they could not be certain that it would work perfectly. Even if it did work, they were unable to guarantee that I would live long because of the lack of living brain tissue.

But, my parents believed that Jesus was able to heal me so that I might be able to live a normal life.

I believe that when Jesus walked this earth two thousand years ago, there was little that impressed him more than faith shown by regular human beings around him. My parents read a story in the Bible from Luke 18 that encouraged them to pray until something happened. “Will not God make the things that are right come to His chosen people who cry day and night to Him? Will He wait a long time to help them? I tell you, He will be quick to help them, but when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth? (Luke 18:7,8. New Life Version)

As my story spread, people started to pray and have faith that Jesus would work a miracle in my life. They prayed that God would multiply my brain cells so that I would be able to live without the help of machines. They prayed that just as Jesus made the lame walk, made the blind see and gave life to those who were dead, that Jesus would give me brain cells so I could become a normal human being.

After six months of continuous prayer, the doctors were amazed to find that I had 25 percent brain. My parents and many others continued to pray for more. Six months later, doctors again were amazed to find 50 percent brain. By this point, I was a year old and was slowly learning how to do simple things. My parents and those who consistently prayed for me were in awe at what God was doing, full of praise and thanksgiving to him. As people continued to pray on my behalf, the Lord heard their prayers and continued to answer them. Prior to my second birthday, their prayers were answered yet again when doctors took a final CAT scan and found 98 percent brain tissue.

By this time, I was able to do most things that a two-year-old child could do. The only problem, which has persisted since my early days of life, is a severe visual impairment. Doctors have determined on many occasions that I have only two and a half percent vision in my left eye and three percent vision in my right. However, this was enough vision to get me through my first nine years of grade school.

In grade nine while I was thirteen, I suffered a stroke, which paralyzed the entire right side of my body. Before I came out of the coma, doctors in San Diego, California performed surgery to place a second shunt down the left side of my body. For years, I had had scars on my stomach which my parents termed scars of courage. By the time the surgery was done in 1991, I now had twice as many scars to boast about!

Soon after the surgery, I awoke from my coma, and went back to school. Though the Special Education Assistants (S.E.A.) at my school now needed to help me overcome memory issues and balance problems in addition to my blindness, they helped me, and I graduated from grade school with my classmates in 1996. That fall, I started a Psychology degree at Trinity Western University and graduated with my second academic certificate in 2003. Two years ago, I completed a certificate in Special Education and now work as an S.E.A. at a private Christian school in North Vancouver. S.E.A.’s had helped me successfully complete each level of grade school. It is now my privilege to help others in the same ways that I had been helped many years ago. Not bad for someone who was supposed to die as an infant?

Though my parent's originally gave me the credit for the courage I had to go through the many hours of surgery I endured, I give all the credit to Jesus Christ as he was the one who healed me. I hope my story will serve as a reminder both to me and anyone else, that God can and does heal us today. I know that he can work the same miracle in the lives of people anywhere. God is willing and able to make your life a testimony of his ability to transform a life. My life was turned around by prayer offered in simple faith. Your new life can begin the same way. All we must do is ask.

"Nobody did anything wrong," said Jesus. "But this happened so that the works of God might be shown in this person's life."

John 9:3