A Strange Souvenir

It was a strange souvenir for anyone to want. No doubt we have all held onto a souvenir at some time. It might have been a programme from a concert, something we brought back from a holiday, or possibly a child's favourite toy or an item to remind us of a person we have loved. But certainly, this was a strange souvenir the men wanted from that day of days.

The problem was that there were several of them but only the one item. It was a linen garment with one previous owner, a seamless robe. On one hand too good to tear up so that they could all have a piece. On the other hand it was pretty badly stained with blood. So the solution was to gamble for it. One of them produced a pair of dice and each took a turn threw them. The highest score would be the winner. A mixture of cheers and groans marked the outcome of each throw. Each man eager for the prize.

The owner of that robe watched them gambling for what had been his. Not long before the same men had stretched out his body and driven nails through his flesh to hold him tight to the wood. Then they had raised him vertically while they waited for him to die.

To the pain of the nails and the beating he had previously received, there was now added the discomfort of struggling for breath. He had not said much through the trial or when they ridiculed him. But now, in order to expand his lungs and gain enough breath to speak, he had to pull himself up by those nails through his hands and push himself up from the nails through his feet.

A lesser man might have used his elevated position to spit on his tormentors. He had been spat upon by many in the mocking crowd surrounding him. But this man somehow found the strength to draw a breath and pray for these men who had hammered nails through his flesh and now gambled for that blood stained robe. Not a curse, but a prayer,

The winner grasped his prize and held it aloft. The back showed bloody stripes where he had been whipped until his flayed back looked like a ploughed field. It would need a good wash before it could be worn again. Crucifixion was a dirty business and it would take more than a good wash to make him feel clean again. It was a strange souvenir, but it would always bring back to his mind the words of that prayer. “Father forgive them, they do not understand what they are doing”.

(c)Barry Osborne 2018